“Childhood is the sleep of reason.”
(Jean-Jacques Rousseau)
Listen closely
do you hear breezes sing
and flowers dancing
O child
of the wind
your paper boat glides
on daylight’s wings
untinged by time
o’er shoreless seas
through wild gardens
watered and sunned
in the rotating prism
of your magical mind
you cannot see
the mist beyond
where treasure maps
redrawn become
and vanishing color
shadows awe
where night descends
its stark terrain
with the straight edge of reason
lancing our dreams