since you were no
older than two
that an unblemished sky
is azure blue;
you don't need
some poem to come
throttle it into you.
But still, you'd peel
that dog ear back
sooner than peer through
the open window,
because it both
thrills and
unnerves you a little—
rather than reignite
the old fervor—to poke
at the embers
of your first
true discoveries,
just to make
sure they still
smolder.
