reading

in the sleep
browned
afternoon
of trees
swaying
against
the may sky
that rises blue
with cathedral
clouds, before
the playground
below the window
as the teacher
turns off
the light,
opens
the book to
read and says,
put your heads
on the desk.
and she reads slowly
at first delving
deep into
the old papered
story turning
pages in our
ears, our lives
still not quite
our own, we
disappear
into the tale
as it unfolds.
and that memory
as sweet and
mournful as it
is, comes back
again, then
again.