Right now the world is rocky and explosive

 Who would have thought, comfort can come from boiling water in a cast iron skillet. 

Purification, of sorts.  Cathartic.

Tufts or buttons on a couch?

We see what we see.  But can what we see be translated into a language understood by another?  By a crow?  For sure, crows are petite poems with personality.  Prickly, sometimes.  And sometimes, still as night until it erupts much like a pan of water suddenly boiling.