Threshold

Here is what I know:
the landlady's windchime hangs
in her yard, rings like dropped dimes.

The half-red cardinal
nests under the poolhouse roof.
I have burned myself cooking.

                 *

This happens a lot.
What happens outside distracts
me from sad indoor patterns.

How important can
my hot welt be when children
on bikes ride paved horizons?

                 *

They are content to
stop only when their parents
order it. What happens next?

Perhaps they wait for
images to crest their view.
I waste my eyes searching brinks.

Instruction

How did you become
Master? The better question:
how did you become Student?

I wanted to learn;
you know something. Well, the same
applies—you teach, I study.