A figure floats down, brought by a balloon-bird.
The balloon-birds come in clusters.
The figures are clever, and good at following tracks. They track down the cave in which they roost. They seek the truth.
Beneath the stone, a creature of the earth forms clay into living shapes. A subterranean creator.
The birds fly them out into the world.
This truth is a rupture. Back above, the figures are weighed down by knowing.
Here the coffee grounds break away; only through a second rupture a lightness may return.
You have reached the end of your cup. Make a wish, then click.