I shall miss this place

When I am gone.

This occupation of space,

Behind which lies,

The thought's narration.

That ardent striving to be usual,

As though it were some lofty goal

When it is only the lazy familiarity

Of routine and ritual,

Which sometimes cracks open

Before me,

To reveal a hidden jewel.

The symbolism of fatherhood,

That shimmering burning song

Which belongs

To the very young.

The aging teachers, who bring

Tempering to,

How it's sung.

My hand in your

Artisanal hand,

Which showed me 

How to build

A home.

The friends and family

Who shine love on me,

Despite me

Being myself.

I shall miss this place

When I am gone.

This occupation of space,

Behind which lies,

The thought's narration.