he prides himself about
this job
where he is all wise
and his students listen
he drives the points
like he's the hammer to
his nails
somehow the old teacher
listens
it is not supposed to
be
he picks a snail
a house actually where the hermit
crab lives
he whistles and the crab comes
out
learning the song of the
master
the wind, soft as breeze
the openness like the wide gate
of the morning sun
between the breasts of the hills