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How thinks you, child?
You lay, I watch, you look, I see,
but what is in your mind
so clean and clear?
Behind blue iris waketime beckons,
Wind-borne knowledge, like dandelion seeds,
floats into peripheral vision, grasped, absorbed,
but how thinks you, new child?
How do you begin
to understand with vacant perfection?
Waiting for life to corrupt,
to scar unblemished charm.
To spoil trust in
probing eyes.
But how do you question without words,
or thought, or voice,
or know even my face?
What say you, new-child?
©D.
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