for LaMonte

An ear bud without music
expertly hangs from his collar like a safety line
for closing down the world.
This body, he works so hard to make invisible —
this body, he cannot make invincible —
walks into College English, his head held
towards the floor. Seventeen. He picks the space apart

from classmates. He’s a window, he’s a door —
his golden eye telescopes, examines the air above —
a third eye with visions he will one day learn
to steer: pathway to a Shakespearean atmosphere.
He argues with himself, his professor, in the arc
of a world not yet understood.
He writes 100 sonnets but shows no one.