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professor

so serious you seem sometimes

brow furrowed, mouth unsmiling

staring through glasses perched on your nose

your little ears contrast humourously

with long, lean limbs and lines

but they strain to drink in every word

what truths grow richly in your mind?

what flights of fancy wing their way

like diving hawks a-hunting?

why are you so silent, so stolid today?

has wit abandoned for warmer climes?

the moon is working toward fullness

there in the sky as you admire without speaking

then goodnight, goodbye, conversation can wait

itching in long fingers, sparking in bright eyes

even fancy’s fools sleep sometimes

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