I almost can’t stand to read you. You burn my fingers. We burn together.

But you make me more alive.

When I taught, all those years, I’d help each student, every single one, find their words, and they would say, “Now I like poetry, and I can write it.”

Each one is a person, and they found the poet in themselves.

Rich or poor, every inconsequentiality vanished.

We were people together, shared our words, life itself became a poem.

Lines of mine come back from earlier to celebrate their resonant relevance:

“To see which of those dumbstruck there
I can ignite.”

“I add my fire to theirs.”