AFTER FIVE YEARS

(for Charlie Wright)

After five years, he came back to us

as quiet as the clear sky above our school.

To us, it was as if all the leaves on all the lawns

had suddenly been swept away by a wondrous force,

or the imprisoning clouds had been pushed aside

so the stars could use their grace and goodness

above us. It was as if all things

were made new. His conversations sounded

like songs, and his handshakes were silent

expressions of thanks that he was with us again.

This school, to him, was like a sacred city once again,

and his simplest thoughts seemed like visions

of what could still be done.

We were lucky he let us be with him again.

Standing beside him was somehow like being special,

as special as this small,

sparkling school he loves so much. 

A WHITE BUSH WITH BEES

A plane is rushing across the sky,
parents are shouting in Westerly,

interstates are screaming with cars,

nations are dashing closer to cliffs,

while here on Shannock Street

a thousand bees 
are happy

with what they have. 

PRAISE

Let the pencil praise

the paper it writes on.

Let the paper praise 

the desk it rests on

as the pencil sets out 

its sturdy words.

Let the table present 

its praises to the floor

that prays to be solid and steady

for the trustworthy table 

and its paper

with the substantial house of words 

being built upon it.