What, he said, is poetry?
A chance, I said, to look at things differently.
Bollocks, he said.
But, surely –
He was steadfast.
Without, you get wet in the rain; with, it is a scent, falling.
Piffle, he said.
I poured him a drink.
Sometimes, I ventured, do you not see light dance?
He poured the liquor into his mind.
Sometimes, he said, I do.
And that, Your Honour, is my case.