Even now I am watching the Stonewall take his final, and it occurs to me that I owe all my sophomores a blog posting.  I promised them I would, and then I went and got distracted by my job and drama and misery and food and sleep.  It’s a wicked world we live in; I pay it too much attention.

I begin with a poem dedicated to the class as a whole, fifteen individuals who will be code named from here forward.  They have been good company for the last two years, and it saddens me to think I will not have them as students again.  Maybe some sunny day in the future we will cross paths again.  Until then, go forth with joy, my peeps.  Go forth with joy.

String Theory

The world is woven of strings

made long and fine and small

that form the firm flesh of all

the bright, hard, lovely things

in God’s hands; each brings

along its filaments the droplets that fall

upon the strings beneath, the calls,

the songs that we play, that we sing.

The psalms move through the fabric

in you and me and she and he,

and we may not understand God’s trick

of tieing us to trees, bees, flowers, seas.

In the matter we hear the music

and are free.