Yesterday's slaughter of the innocents has distressed me more than I can coherently say. I love my own children so much; I spend so much time working as a poet in so many different schools; I am so committed to the teachers who invite me into their lives; and my heart breaks so much for those lonely young men whom I don't know how to reach in even the most rudimentary of ways. It seems as if every character in this morality play has wound itself into my vocation . . . as I've both succeeded and failed in it.

But here is a glimmer of light. Adults will lay down their lives for children, even at moments of unspeakable terror. This is not sentiment but an instinct of our humanity.

Here is another glimmer. When I cry, "I love you," you cry in return, "I know. I love you too." And this, too, is not sentiment but an instinct of our humanity.