- Category: Juvenilia
- Written by Jim Dee
I try sometimes to give my attention
to the professor, but to his either
side are windows which frame
so well, the trees over the river commons.
Their branches fill the whole view,
distant and silouhetted
against the night-falling blue.
He asks if anyone has ideas of
what a certain line of poetry might mean.
He could never pinpoint it, he says.
No one tries to offer suggestions,
but I can't stop watching the trees
whose branches, before a darkening sky,
are limbs raised like hands in a classroom,
and, in a while, the view fades and
sadly enough, his question is left unanswered.
[circa 1989 / 1990]