When he was small,
he burrowed
to the bottom
of a sleeping bag,
at the foot of his bed,
under piles of clothes,
searching the beneath of things
for quiet answers
to questions he
could not ask.
They worried, but discovered
one day
his eyes peering out
from sofa cushions
and gradually
he emerged
into the world above
with squinting eyes
and questions flowing
from his tongue.
He became
a golden youth
arms wide, embracing
the wind,
as he ran for the
pure love of running
sucking air
in great gulps,
singing, in
bassoonic voice,
quavering ballads and
booming hymns,
and mole became man
dancing with friends,
in a circle
of perpetual surprise.
Bluster & Absurdity 