The Crocodile Meditates in a Broken Teacup

Scales like ancient pottery
rest against porcelain curves,
this vessel once held Earl Grey dreams
now cradles reptilian philosophy.

In the bottom ring of tea stains
he reads fortunes backwards,
each crack a river delta
leading to forgotten oceans.

His meditation beads are bubbles
rising from nostrils wide as saucers,
while painted roses on white china
bloom beneath his armored belly.

Time moves differently here —
measured in the slow blink
of prehistoric eyes,
in the space between
handle and spout,
where wisdom pools
like the last drops
of yesterday’s ceremonies.

He contemplates the delicate rim,
how it mirrors his own teeth,
both designed to hold
what must eventually escape.

The universe in bone china,
evolution in a broken cup,
as he folds his ancient patience
into this modern sanctuary.

Somewhere, a teapot whistles
but he has transcended
such earthly urgencies,
finding peace in the paradox
of his scaled mass
contained by fragile walls.

A crocodile’s enlightenment
comes not from lotus flowers
but from understanding
how to rest, at last,
in vessels never meant
to hold such wild truths.