Laying out a scaffolding of logic,
Carving out the thinking face in lines of code,
He looks at me an image of my thoughts,
He looks at me an image of my play,
My play with words far more constrained,
By reams of logic spooling into chains,
To hold me in a puzzle and imprint,
My quizzing and tomfoolery - my burst of creativity.

True sun,
Burning silent by the clouds,
Enshrouded in the fog and cumulus high,
I stare it in the eyes,
And shaded just enough,
I bare my gaze on its a few
Seconds and the line is snapped.
And looking down I feel its tap,
On my shoulders as it breaks,
Through the skyward net above.