Around the old wooden cafeteria tables,
Reassembled and sanded for seminar use,
We sit together to sort through the world,
Such as it is, with an old man’s broken wisdom
And your vital beauty.
We are privileged in this graceful school,
A single tuition exceeding a teacher’s annual salary.
With a year ahead of us there would seem to be
Time enough to glimpse the mystery
At the bottom of the sacred lake.
But then we are so busy giving birth
And distracted by wires and lights.
Quick now, there now,
Round the corner, through the gate,
The arbor, near the orchard, by the stump,
Below the granite ledge,
Look see quick now, there now.
We talk, we read, we write, we argue, we snack
Around the old maple tables.
There is a joy here, an approximation, an approach
An emerging hope.
Today, after class, I find a student
has left gnawed to satiety
an apple core
on the table.
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