in the warm-lit classroom of memory
sits my heart
happy like a first-grader
humming like the whimsiest wind, ’til

the headmistress of my mind
takes the chair next to her

those dreams

having been a fugitive
folded now as a letter in my pocket

and these are missing: the energy of
awakening, of transformation
filling the air filling me
with literature and reason with
practice with science, smiles

and epiphany…

half-humming, half-happy
the pastel walls too remember
for last year —
the other end of the seasons
— it is here we sat


  1. A beautiful poem.


    1. Thanks, Nico, you’re always kind.

      Liked by 1 person

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