...I don't...
and as if that choice wields Lourdes-like power
the child's torment...slows...
stills..
the suffocating stink of faux cheese -
recedes.
I sigh, soft and penitent,
place elbows on compliant knees
position as if to pray.
Streaming thoughts slip sideways,
dissipate
transpose to form large, gentle globules.
No eye of the storm this.
Though concentration does...telescope.
Now, finally,
I can focus.
