Gathering

Above, behind windows
I bear witness to their daily walk
Prisoner’s march with fingerprint gait
Through tingling raindrop seeds, their fists stretching pockets
Eyes downcast
Snubbing the sidewalk to gaze into flames of worry
Which of us
If a student asks for a bucket of water
Will give him a flashlight instead?

The near sidewalk lies directly beneath my window
Invisible until I rise from my chair, which I seldom do
Unless a familiar laugh or raised voice tumbles up
And in the classroom it’s easiest to see the back row
Because I’m a bit farsighted and they’re in my field of vision
But you who are nearest me are invisible
Unless I fold my neck in half and squint

So, on the sidewalk they advance and retreat
But only one out of dozens is bound for my office
In the classroom they come and go
Talking of g______ Loren Crow
But only a handful of you draw near enough to make contact
And then I fumble and hem and haw and flounder
And you are the hardest ones to see
They, who keep their distance
And fit my field of vision
And fit my expectations
And my stereotypes
And my stencils
And my habits,
Are vivid
Detailed
Defined
Sharp
There

My mentors all agreed,
The best teachers keep a healthy separation.
And the fox walked away with his nose in the air, saying
I am sure they are sour.

Paired and in packs, footfalls synchronized
They circulate woes, treasures
Burning through a meager cache of sleep-heaped energy
To peel one layer off the universe
While daylight spills between their gripping fingers
A breeze swirling against an avalanche

I own no square inch of land
Still, the Oregon countryside takes my breath away
I must not touch artwork on a gallery wall
Still, open doors usher me in
I may approach this near, but no nearer
And understand this much, but no more
And offer, but suffer frequent rejection
Still, I witness their daily walk
Through the window
Across Alder
And bathe my heart in a glorious, excruciating joy

Now monkey-walking through bicycle racks to exhume a buried smile
Now swinging keys on a lanyard for the soothing propeller motion
Now shouldering a backpack strap to a more comfortable spot
Now text-walking in front of an oncoming bus
As the Angel of Death moistens her icy white lips
Now halting mid-step, remembering they must be two places at once
Or two people
Now exploding into full sprint to escape the slugs

Each passage drips into my memory
Deposited in a half full cavern of stalagmites
Downy freshmen who grew a lustrous coat
One day finally exiting the MEC, robed and capped
And setting off for other sidewalks