for Betsy

 

The Dean has retired to take up

a dream job, part-time, odd hours,

leading the curious to inspect

small worlds, showing them how

the anemone wait for the rising tide

to flower and feed with their stinging

barbs and spiny sea urchins watch

for unwary prey, their whole body

one alert eye, and starfish inch by inch

scrub the rock clean of life and kelp

and sea cucumbers dazzle and dance

when the tide is in and barnacles,

like old academicians, cling

tenaciously to place—the rounds

of grazing and basking and display

different on every visit, the whole

chaotic and precarious world

as vibrant as any university.