I teach a class.
The energy is mine.
More than a class
It is an encounter
Where we in this class
Find it all out existentially.
We see the snowflake
And her crystallization.
We discover how this alluring flake,
Patterned white,
So her anger and helplessness
Are still defused.
She is ready and not ready to melt.
She pleads silently
For a strong icy hand, some man,
To take her back to her Mommy and Daddy.
In this class,
All of this is intellectually clear,
So you would think that would satisfy me.
Yet for the rest of the day
I think of nothing else but of
This white snowflake
With the image of me and her
In the furnace, in the fire,
Back to our watery steamy selves...
Opposite to the conclusion
We reached in class.