What University does to Poetry

Wondering

Why are my hands still open?

I suppose You might put something in them.

I keep walking down Kitsap road. The mountain before me.

Do I turn left here

Or right there?

Do I stop and talk with this homeless man? 

I got people's names right today.

I wrote the article,

Did the interviews.

I had coffee with You this morning.

But my hands are still open. 

The day was sand through my fingers.

Sand slipping down a timer.

I suppose I'm ready for the knowledge You are preparing me for.

That's all I'm here for. 

But why have I a degree of lostness?

Not terribly but faintly.

A faintness that makes me wonder what You're up to. 

I want to know You more.

I'm open.