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.