I have resolved to share more Billy Collins with you. He is wonderful in a different way than, say, Mary Oliver. He takes the banal, prosaic moment and makes it numinous. [Wow! Look at me using big grown up words.]
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.