Girl In My Class

Please don't think that low enrollment Would cause my sparks of fascination To be anything but widely distributed Or that they are likely to center and flash up at one point I am quite capable of deflecting to a cloudy crowd of generality Though occasioning persons are few And a particular pair of eyes is one For the abstract issue of CROWD is not WHICH BODIES But that bodies of one kind or another are THERE Hence any persons sitting there would have an effect So it is not a matter of WHO it may be, but of WHOSOEVER Thus the REAL can be treated as a sum of possibilities While the projected, definite encounter of true minds Is just an empty passageway that some dream imagines Would lead to an electrified soul I stand in front of the class My thoughts are congealed into gelatin But one face has the range of an audience Ghostly-pensive or edgy-tired sometimes Yet ideas of mine keep quivering to life Whenever she beams that curious smile That keeps my words jumping to life She is a scholaress Be careful about lecturing too much No telling what long listening might brew up This many-year harvest coming so early to her That for a late, old teacher had peculiar results Can all such be worth carrying By slim, ripe, sparkle-eyed Square-shouldered, grave and thoughtful Down-to-business academatrix? Cool product of ancestors and their historical rage Now balanced, enshrined and turned To quick, tough calculation of circumstance And therefore what I used to call intimidating But capable, out of flinty, real-minded view Of rescuing a certain eccentric, exotic twinge That helps you give voice to a prospect-vision-idea Hence generous, reassuring, encouraging Having a little of merciful Guanyin Bodhisattva Considering the sounds of the world at pain Glimpsing a version-model-hope that lifts her spirits And spirits are always kind enough to lift each other And so she needs an extra note in her name Like the uplifting light she sends through a fog of words Call her scholaressa Scholaress- scintill- luminatina Mossolina Liquilaugh... ... Fresh-ifer astra-gynette [1] Wind-eye with flowers on sill, and no blind Meadow-crossing creature in the sunlight Easily bearing that big inward field Enjoying the dancing springy movement of the finely curved reward-body [2] Around her own bones The name should contain my thanks For eyes that got me looking into clouds Got my eyes turned inside out Like an antenna for ambient lightning When I follow listening to my own speech To get lost behind that cloud