They looked at me like innocent children.
Like students and orphans
in their two-dimensional world.
One child was rhapsody,
another diaphanous as a shadow.
Many of them rubbed their eyes from sleep.
Their dream almost lost asking who I was.
Their heart’s father.
None ever to be cast away.
Lost in the wilderness of the world.
I must pick a few.
A chorus for the rest.
Not understanding exactly what it was
to be written.
To be separated from yourself.
But that is what was created,
an image in the mirror,
notes as valid as any mathematics.
To reach the edge of a beach
where emptiness invites you
to enter the waves,
and discover the fountainhead
from which you’re born.