Little Ones

Little Ones

Now despite himself he was being passed
Forward, lifted in others’ rough hands, rough 
For not being his father’s, his father’s
Being the hands that passed him, all because
The Master had asked for the little ones
To be brought to him: it was clear even
As he was being passed from man to man
That there’d been some sort of disagreement 
Up front where those who wished to question what 
He was teaching were always trying to 
Catch him in nets of riddles he always 
Managed to slip out of: the boy noticed
The smell of the people passing him changed, 
They smelled better than the ones his parents
Sat with smelled, they smelled like flowers, and then 
There was a light shining where no light bright 
As that should have shined: it was like the sun 
But the sun filtered through the sun’s own wish
To be gentle: into this light he was
Being passed, until the boy found himself
Held in the Master’s lap, the faces of
Those who always surrounded him leaning
In, aglow with the light he seemed to be
Sitting in the heart of, and heard him say
Something in his ear about how one must
Become like one of these little ones, and
It was like everything he’d ever wanted
To hear his parents say was finally
Being said: something meant for him alone
While also meant for everyone around
And good that someone thought to write it down
Because by the time he was returned to
His father, he’d forgotten all he’d said.