These amazing biases —
Pure as four-sugar coffee
Keen and full as smoke
Such enchanting vines.
They start as guests
And become deep homes
Or seem like chants from behind —
The echoes that are taken for granted.
No matter what we say
Or where we go
Biases suffer us all gently.
They become purry as tom clouds
Soothing as sore feet with rubbing
Likeable as ancestors’ far away pose.
They enchant us with curls.
And while it may seem unfair to say
The newest are the cutest.