Summering
It used to be a teacher’s
Time for other work
Some went to school, some painted
Houses, some worked in greenhouse
Stores
Some never stopped with learners
In the classroom
Some took the learning outside
Now with age and the inexorable slowing
Down,
New options must emerge
I sit and write and share
A little of what emerges from the work,
A pinhole in a tube
Is this real, too
Only creation without a
Contract?
Or if I should sit still for the season,
Would that count as substance
Let alone abundance in
The universe
Or would it be
Simply in between the numbers
On the line
If
The calculations that matter
Only come in the fall
C L Couch
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