Along the walk to the Institute
The Indian cork tree begins its silent shift.
White, five-pointed stars rest on the pavement,
not fallen, but arranged,
as if the long night had paused here
to remember itself.
Each blossom is a cool reprieve
rising through the warm morning.
They ease your steps, inviting you
to move more slowly,
to listen for the almost-sound
of petals letting go of the air.
By the time you reach the lobby
a few small stars remain with you,
clinging to your shoes,
a soft reminder that scholarship begins
in moments like this,
in attending to what the world lays down quietly
before your moving feet.
