What could be more perfect,
The sunlight pouring down,
Predictable as the birds return
From God knows where.

Her little secrets safe
In a thousand million bodies on the wing.
None lasting but
Semblances past and projects not born
Gather the steams and mists of
Our imaginations to dismiss us
Before the class bell has had a chance to ring.
No one would go home on such a fathomless chance,
We are going out!

By Rolf Stavig

3/11/2-25