He hunched beside the desk,

trying for art.

But then he heard the radio—

The drums and chants

and tunes from all across the world,

A thousand rays of sunshine,

a thousand days of bliss,

a whirlwind surge of breathless life-pulse

beating in his heart.

–

He stared beneath the sky

at bursting stars

and planned to write of Aquila.

But then he heard

the music from across the world—

A thousand urgent voices,

a thousand untold tales,

A hunger-stricken need to hear it,

ringing in his ears.

–

He wrote about the world

with flaming sight—

of sculptures, plays, and refugees.

And when he saw

a pan flash from across the world—

a thousand old traditions,

a thousand unknown arts—

an educator’s need to tell it

opened up his mouth.

–

He hunched beside the desk,

too old for art.

And then he heard the radio—

that busy noise,

The struggles all across the world,

a thousand changeless problems,

a thousand endless strifes,

A whirlwind surge of tired people,

looking.

At themselves