Mistaken Prodigy
I see him now and then
staring widely into the water
curious,  the young genius
He is waiting

with a mind that playfully
fondles precision
click turning too efficient
to be bothered with doubt
yet not so smooth
as to slide past the missing piece

He is tormented breathless
by the necessary flaw
that composes such detail
as art or emotion
Not prepared to allow
for occasional dust
on the stones that erect
his achievement

As a child,  he has
already strapped his thoughts
quite securely beneath
the thumb of paradox

but with plenty of room
still reserved in his heart
for a certain messiah 
who will never come

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