The Juggler

this son blows dandelion clocks
to tell tomorrow’s hours

and burns the moment laid down
by the wind of birthday candles
trailing across mountains
where lupines bloom

this is the child born of champagne
bubbles rising through his eyes
behind the flutter of moths

he runs through a picture of sand dunes
hands outstretched to capture castles
that ebb with the tide

he carries a weight of flame in his hands
and swallows the ink painted on walls
sends it out from his mouth
in a lyric lighter than smoke