You Revise Me

Like a wise look

on a sleeping infant,
you revise me.

Old ideas forsake –
dry, brittle – break
like thin potato chips.

New opinions bloom
like patterns
in a loom.

A baby’s face –
potato chips –
a tapestry:

similes
mix
unapologetically.

Regard a few
of your bewildering

effects on me.

.