State of Grace            For Vicki Walker’s U3A Poetry Class   There is a grace in the room When these lovers of poetry Gather every Thursday in term. The collective noun might be a rustle or a roar. Quiet attention, companionable laughter, Glorious disagreement, but no feuds.   They are immune or indifferent To the schisms and wars Of the other universities. Was it claustrophobia, A contempt bred by the familiar faculty That led so many to waste the gift in vitriol?   Her selections are not political. Fashions are irrelevant, factions ignored. She asks only, is it fine? Is it…