WANTING TO KNOW YOU BETTER,
BILLY COLLINS
I hear your voice as I read your poems,
having kept company with you in my car
where you recite to me, bring delight to me
on drives from San Luis to Morro Bay.
You lull me with your ordinary openings,
the slow rhythm that is close to boring,
when wham, you open me to unknown knowns,
beguile me with whimsy and wonder:
a mouse with a match causing a fire,
a salt shaker replacing a knight,
missing in action, on a chessboard,
and your aimless love for soap in its dish.
I envy you sir as I dabble in your style,
plead with my imagination to produce.
Forgive me Billy. We must live together.
I need to take you to bed, sleep on you,
wake up and go to my garden,
see the world through your fine eyes.
A BUDDING GARDENER
On a hot day, I eyed a toddler,
his only garb: a green baseball cap.
He played with hoses, one garden variety,
the other attached to his body,
sprinkling the grass with both.
His mother and I smiled at this whiz kid.
Photo by Clive Nash
Pelican
He flaps, soars, circles, aims.
Dowsing-rod beak tilts down.
Body perpendicular, W-shaped,
diving forty miles-per-hour,
the pelican slashes, splashes the sea.
Fun for me,
survival for him.
