Passing through elongated hours
Like a flat spinning stone,
Skimming across the surface,
Touching down and lifting off.
Sleeping with our eyes open.
Busily doing nothing.
He knew,
And we knew he knew.
Catching us as we sped by,
Pulling us down into his world,
Confronting us with ourselves,
Looking out through our eyes.
Speaking to me, speaking to us,
Thirty simultaneous conversations.
He cared, cared that we didn’t
And smashed us about our heads,
Armed only with knowledge
And love for his subject.
An unlikely orchestra
He played us, coaxed us.
Daring us to stretch beyond our reach,
To see something for ourselves,
To see something of ourselves.
A seed planted, that grows still.
