Nathan

I watched him once

Through the windshield of my truck,

As if peering into one of those

Glass orbs that we shake full of snow.

He pranced from the step of his school bus

Shaking off the cruelty of his day

Like a jacket tossed thoughtlessly on the floor,

And became one

With his neighborhood.

It struck me that

Nathan is

Not a spectator

Passing through, but

Permeating, penetrating

As watercolor

Spreads across a linen canvas

That most of us can merely gaze upon.

As if excitedly chatting up his very best friend,

He greeted wren with mimicked flutter,

A secret handshake from

A club I cannot join

And in which I am not welcome.

They both know I could not last the hazing.

He returns

Gray squirrel’s nod of head and wide wave of hand.

A downy wisp soaring on an

Unseen zephyr.

Or is he like the zephyr on which we all float,

Unrecognized grace – a mighty fragility

Roaring by, to which we all seem deaf.

There is Goodness in his gait.

Stooping in wonder

To examine a tiny marvel among the pea gravel,

He turned

Aside to see that great sight,

Barefoot in shoes upon the Holiest ground.

How long has it been since

I have had time for such things?

There is Truth in his bones,

A devastating beauty…

Far beyond my reach.

– by Max Ramsey, August 21, 2007