He Wished to See the Teacher: A Poem and Collage to Listen With

He Wished to See the Teacher

He is one of many who,
while walking the road of daily-ness,
catches a fragrance
so tantalizing, so familiar,
like no other thing there are categories for,
and cannot not follow it.

An invisible thread
lifts his heart, his gaze.
Now there is space for a series of
tiny obediences.

Go…but don’t go early.
Take your time…this can’t be forced or missed.
Look up…choose an out-of-the-way place with a clear line of sight.

Since he is one of many,
it is bewildering to know
this magnetic pull is
a recognition.

As he sees you seeing him,
the wind blows time open, or at least that’s how it seems.

When you tell him to come down —
say that you are “coming to his house today,”
two things he can’t quite name come together.

What follows is a blur,
like no other thing there are categories for.
The clock tells this story with a start and an end.
The mind sees one thing, the heart knows something else.

Floating around in fantastical puddles
slams time closed, or at least that’s how it seems.

Bearing the urge to shape to the shapeless
takes some getting used to.
Can anyone do it without making a mess?