The little boy smears across it

Older hands waving and grappling
But never together or when so
Too strong and vehement

Here and gone and here
The rhythms are very personal
And different and cherished

The tallest aren’t the fairest or the wisest
They belong in separate frames
Only arched ivory borders for them

Something’s amiss
The little boy is too quick and too young
He invites me but I cannot abandon this