I ask him
to take out a poem, to feel notes
that form cadence by means of peripheral vision.
Each syllable is innocence and fire
each line break, shimmering stars;
‘But where lies its purpose?’
‘near poem’s end,’ I reply with a conspiratorial wink.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Posted for ‘Quadrille #68’ @dVerse Pub
And on Tuesday Platform @ Real Toads