Ringed around the pond, a miracle
Of wanting to please, of wanting to learn
How to please, and identify with those
Who have pleased, the teachers with drawers full of sticks,
Who fret the steps away from spirit's school
Like fretting a lute, to capture angel voices
With calibrate calculations, correct scales,
Relentless beat.
The leaves wave their shadows
Across the meadow. The eucalyptus seems to weep.
Children must leave what's been taken from them
Behind, and forget, over time, what took
Its place, the strict divisions, the condensations
Of thoughts into abridgements, simple enough
To cross, but still too perplexing to trust
Oneself going over
Beyond the grasp
Of birds that can be heard but never seen,
The patterns that escape attention spans,
The things that are remembered without effort
Or forgotten without a sound, conditions
Of silence where everything known passes
Like a shadow, not separate from us
In our words and worked-up thoughts, the knowledge
We have to hold, as us, what we possess,
That's just a sense of longing, for what's lost.
