These are poems — printed on a page —
though you recite them — they are from a page —
their hearts conform to forms of older age
to channel insight to a higher stage,

to marshal feelings — joy or wonder, fear,
what’s light, constricting, wid’ning, soft, austere —
in awed perceptions that seem perfect, clear —
resounding right within us, now and here.

And then you go away, and I do too,
and all the wisdom sounding old and new
and all the mysteries brought into view
shrink, go thin, but stay, play good, hold true

as things that will advance a bigger one
and drop in place when done with — done, not gone.