When Allowed To Return To The Class,

Getting Over What You Did To Me Is Not Why I Get Out Of Bed Anymore.

Our Limbs Which Had Already Traveled Far Beyond Her World, Carrying The Click Of Distances In The Smooth, Untroubled Soles Of Their Shoes.

Maybe We Try Too Hard To Be Remembered, Waking To The Glowing Yellow Disc In Ignorance, Swearing That Today Will Be The Day, Today We Will Make Something Of Our Lives. What If We Are So Busy Searching For Worth That We Miss The Sapphire Sky And Cackling Blackbird. What Else Is Missing? Maybe Our Steps Are Too Straight And Our Paths Too Narrow And Not Overlapping. Maybe When They Overlap Someone In Another Country Lights A Candle, A Couple Resolves Their Argument, A Young Man Puts Down His Silver Gun And Walks Away.

Where We Live In The World Is Never One Place. Our Hearts, Those Dogged Mirrors, Keep Flashing Us Moons Before We Are Ready For Them.

Poetry [is] More Necessary Than Ever As A Fire To Light Our Tongues.