The painter took a lifetime to draw like a child
the poet longing for the time he trailed clouds of glory
the singer was so much older than but he’s younger than that now
All lamented the loss of childhood
for years she thought it a cliche
old men clamoring for an innocence they killed a long time ago
But as she reached her later years she knew what they meant
What we call wonder was nothing more than potential
a mind of infinite capacity
an ocean bed waiting to be filled a drop at a time
Crouching by a rock
lifting it to see the ants busy consider their ways
to them the planet is a galaxy
a sidewalk a continent
seeing the world without sign or signifier
as big as life
Ink Stains 