Briefly

The shadow of a hawk shot
through the blowing snow–
it looked like smoke
in steam.

 
I thought of my student,
no longer a student,
a union carpenter now.
Does he, driving to work before dawn,
think the stripes of ice
on the road look like pewter or steel?
 

What did I want for  him instead?
More student debt? A chance to be
a middle manager somewhere?
No, but it hurt me somewhere deep
when he talked about how much
he loved to sing but won’t have time
for choir or plays any more.
 

I guess I wanted choice
to be available to him
and probably it’s near-sighted
of me not to notice he’s made
his choice.