OK, so I'm going to read a couple of poems
because it happens to be that my older son, Elijah, is
a student at this fine institution.
So I'm going to read a couple of poems that intersect
in interesting ways with him.
One is-- I'll start with this one.
The title of this poem is 5.12, which is a rock climbing term.
It is-- rock climbing routes, their difficulty
is measured by numbers.
And a 5.12 is kind of a hard climb, so this is called 5.12.
"Hexes, hooks, nuts, full rack of cams, quick draws,
quick links, with what sustaining
clanks they fill the pack, how they
heft in the hand with metallic assurance.
We palm-fondle.
We fetish with thumbs.
We toothbrush off the grains of sand.
We love the gear as we love God, as we love any salvation fable,
believing our love hangs from the rope of our peril.
Thus, do we sling to an anchor.
Thus, smear foot rubber to rock as if every heel hook and hand
jam were of faith our testament.
But as any penitent knows, it's never
grace that calls us to ascend but gravity's
sweet and awful hazard.
If we weren't in it for the fall, we'd walk."