you want a set of different words
more complex than
the one i offer.
you may have a string
of compliments sitting pretty
on the poster they made for you,
but strangers’ mouths
could never put forth
what i see every day.

i wish i could wipe the words
you imagine i might say
right out of your mind.
our exchange is a hushed whisper
in this semi-dark classroom;
there is no space, no time
to envelop the elegance of thought
you put forth in everything
that you do for them,
that you ask them to do for you.

good may not be the response
you walked across the school to hear;
but just as i cannot define its significance
in the midst of the chaos i face
every time i leave your classroom,
i cannot define the perfect peace,
the depth of knowledge,
or the admiralty of your daily lessons
with any word, or words,
that would be adequate.