May She

I hear the voice of seminar her sense of humor

The latent spiral of the mind advancing other

Minds alert to quarry and their decibels 

Endowed with pearl shine of the books and Breed of escalation lofted to the tip most 

Freeing sense of thought she showed apart

From our being told the latchkey innocence

No one can imagine the abrasive speed 

Of seeding one and then another force feel

Remaining in the taut-weave basket that 

Encloses minutiae we leave to themselves

Beyond containment in dithers and loose 

Play of circumspect pale threads of sight read

Stories