I touch her forehead and spell t-h-i-n-k
the word
propels know out to a sun
way beyond the scarred
sky concealed in her practical mind.
Later I add perhaps
suppose
concepts so open-ended
the degree of risk is daunting
and then forget
remember
and watch her dredge
a sunken image from her sea of stone
without a rope of words
to tug the line.
I follow the suggestions she gives me.
Expect she learns
and lifts the future from a pile of gray
and airless ash.
But without an adverb
like slowly, I want to warn her
move cautiously, speed
is the devil
fast the devil's hand.
Possibly she runs right past me
past my expectations she runs.
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