The crayon and the boy at the window.

The crayon and the boy at the window

When the unexpected rains splash
at the window,
like the sorcerers’ magic spell,
in the rainy afternoon, the young, lolling
doll at the opposite window,
his crayon enslaved between the
thumb and the ring,
the center drifting pointless,

His innocent intermittent claps
at the caterpillar gliding outer
into the basket of the vendor,
the sticky drum stick leaves from
whence it springs, his pure white
teeth peeping out, smiling, smiling,
innocence smiles, stretching his
Milk white imagination into

the multicolored paper in front,
staring for an imprint,
there comes the flowering of a
leaf sketched into a caterpillar.