He moves in the fluid graceful quarters
And pauses tenderly at the half beat
His glass is sometimes a fresh half full
Though sometimes a thirsty half empty
On good days it’s a half and a half
He wants to be just and only himself
But regrets to say he’s never quite there
He loves the infinity of the possible truth
But his favorite word is definitely maybe
On good days it could be a probable yes
Yet he beguiles me completely and absolutely
With the thoughts running amok in his head
He captures and solidifies my fluid imagination
With all the random things he says
And on good days ……
Mysteriously creation is made.