He Toddles

He’s climbing up paper
weaving through words
He is diving on in, using letters like ladders
standing on T
swinging from G
each line is a foothold
to slip up the margins
and riot through syntax
He sweeps grammar from tables
splashes in vowels
Watch out, he’s on top of a syllable
He bangs hands on the colons
says no to the fonts
He’s suddenly laughing on sight of a Q
threading string through the spaces
calling for P
He spills water on stanzas
makes similes sticky
sends apostrophes rolling, and falls down on verses
He adds peas to the keyboard
makes boats of the iambs

And now, his eyes drooping like commas
he settles a sentence
lies down in a pronoun
the O of a cradle
the space bar of nap

and I am
pitching from one line to another
picking up metre
trawling for tone
still yet beginning
marooned full of meaning
a jangled enjambment, the lack
of a pause