CLASS BEGINS

 

in the song of a boy who will not speak

in the upper range where his fingers

 

become cunning black birds

you might hear

 

a foot drop like a heavy book

a dictionary

for instance and this will be

 

his sentence his single thought

lost in the simple dry air

 

we call a lesson

 

1987


All poems by Br. Tom Murphy, O. Carm.

My Poems

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