i refuse the ability to summarize
and deconstruct and write
convincing papers that argue
my points to kingdom come. already
printed matter shouts me
its intensest secrets, and if mute,
i know how to coax it from them.
isn't that what we all teach students -
the ability to dig up corpses
and catalogue artifacts and
chase treasure in maps; the ability
to identify suspects
expidite concretely in five-page opuses,
a final revealing of the stars' infinitude,
the solutions to mysteries
that stumped aristotle and socrates;
there must be concise directions to paradise
otherwise the perfect grade shall be withheld.
for this i refrain from chasing
winters and snows, fleeting summers and
springs generated in classrooms that glow
gold in the autumn sunset. still i crave
to capture light in prisms so i can share
your glee at discovery. still i crave
precise discourse held exclusive. yet i fear
your cold solitude and fullness in life in pages.
i fear your dogged insistence
that this particular detail
is off by furloughs and furloughs. there has to be
someone to rescue you from infinite confines and
deep mazes, there has to be someone to pull you
out of ruts and make you eat. or at least breathe
the dustless air. come, the sunset
is warm and i've set it aside for you. tell me your
secrets, i promise to listen,
and taste and drink and sample
every fresh sprig of detail,
until you are full
for having someone travel with you for a time.

¶ 7/19/2004 06:36:00 PM