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?’Β 
‘near poem’s end,’ I reply with a conspiratorial wink.

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for ‘Quadrille #68’ @dVerse Pub

And on Tuesday Platform @ Real ToadsΒ