she had a gift--
an extraordinary gift.
her flat, nimble fingers
could manipulate tricks,
(breath)
melting puzzles back into
collective unconcious
(breath).
only the cube gave her
pleasure, a
shifting rainbow,
softly clicking, chattering, whispering.
but even so its blocks
would align,
marching along the plastic spine
never able to stray.
no, it was not a challenge,
it was not a game.
the sadness was enjoyable,
mortal and dull even in
the morphing toy.
her spinners scrambled
the rows, twisting its back,
breaking its bones.
and the colors bled out.
yet her muscles knew the path
and could not complete the process.
her gift was never tested,
so it died in silence.


and the gentle whirring memories remained undisturbed.