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
If I were empty
or obvious
It would be easier
to float
and hold sway
Your presence
“A perfect day marred with sudden clouds
That streak across and linger
Not long enough for recognition
Coming and departing at will”
Is that what you meant, I ask him
But now his back stoops and eyes dim
The shadow enslaves him for a bit
Leaving him dazed and bitter
While I suppress my smile
Surrounded by those who always
Assure him of his uniqueness
He drifts in his small world
Bereft of care or concern
But when similar bright specks
Of various microcosms converge
His dismay is so apparent
His uniqueness so familiar
That he cowers and returns
A solitary lotus flower
Always beautiful and mighty
Afloat its muddy waters
With much diligence and care
Hitherto reserved and unspent
He perused through my work
And then questioned with aplomb
“Isn’t your fixation with us
An affront to nature?”
In the vastness of where we lay
I searched among the arched trees
The cold air and the shallow puddles
For any sign of concurrence
But their indifference belittled
The frown on his face
And revealed the true nature
Of the affront
A True Sentence 