so serious you seem sometimes
brow furrowed, mouth unsmiling
staring through glasses perched on your nose
your little ears contrast humourously
with long, lean limbs and lines
but they strain to drink in every word
what truths grow richly in your mind?
what flights of fancy wing their way
like diving hawks a-hunting?
why are you so silent, so stolid today?
has wit abandoned for warmer climes?
the moon is working toward fullness
there in the sky as you admire without speaking
then goodnight, goodbye, conversation can wait
itching in long fingers, sparking in bright eyes
even fancy’s fools sleep sometimes