Where once a child stood full in wonder

Of a yellow day's caress

And the dark starfield light could

All but relish

In the finite sky.

Surprise in the form of knowing

Each book read eclipsed a question

Heard not answered

 

As the poor drugs of poetry

Did little to benefit query

Just left the grasp half collapsed

Between lost and drowned.

 

A poem yet written

Not this one, no

 

But a

Typical everything poem

To finally reveal impressions

Of rejected childhood logic

 

To drag the child in us

Kicking and smiling

From deep in the fire

To rest gently, mouthless

In a bath of knives.