There's an element of desperation in the insistence of the graduate student's respect for knowledge — as opposed to wisdom. (p. 95) - Theodore Roethke

Child On Top Of A Greenhouse

The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,
My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,
The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers,
Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight,
A few white clouds all rushing eastward,
A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses,
And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!

Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire

She moves as water moves, and comes to me,
Stayed by what was, and pulled by what would be.