A windmill of paper and bone leans over a table—
half grammar, half engine.
A book unfolds into a tent,
its roof lifted toward invisible sunlight.
Beneath, a garden of boxes blooms:
petaled lids unfurling to reveal
blocks of color and compressed knowing.
One box remains sealed—
a patient future.
The others display the geometry of recollection,
how thought arranges itself when unobserved.
The Maharajagar 