Child

I said to him:
'when will we be children again
and just look,
see?'

He said:
'you're right;
I don't know.
Why do we reduce
everything
to bare reduction?'

I said:
'I don't know;
but it sure is fun, though -
and interesting.'

'Yes,' he mused.
Then he smiled.
And with that
he found his child self:

when we look away
from candour -
that overlooked candy -
we miss the moments:

what we seek
is within us:
when we look,
we see that child's face turn
and smile;

we pursue the wonder
in our hearts
to its logical conclusion:
we eat the chocolate syrup,
come back for more;
eat again,
wait a while.

And then we leave it -
the taste still remains
but it's changed.
And then we find out something new
about this
intellectual cocoa
and the taste
explodes in our mouths
in the tiniest frames
of spiritual revelation,

rushing out
like the universe to greet us
or a falling leaf
to meet us
or a reproach to
stultify and seat us
or a story
to entreat us:

we realise that the information
possesses us,
enthralls us,
delights us,
and shows us the way home
to that scene
in which we used to revel
in the smallest details
just because
they were there.