What scene would I want to be enveloped in <br />more than this one, <br />an ordinary night at the kitchen table, <br />floral wallpaper pressing in, <br />white cabinets full of glass, <br />the telephone silent, <br />a pen tilted back in my hand? <br /> <br />It gives me time to think <br />about all that is going on outside-- <br />leaves gathering in corners, <br />lichen greening the high grey rocks, <br />while over the dunes the world sails on, <br />huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake. <br /> <br />But beyond this table <br />there is nothing that I need, <br />not even a job that would allow me to row to work, <br />or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4 <br />with cracked green leather seats. <br /> <br />No, it's all here, <br />the clear ovals of a glass of water, <br />a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin, <br />not to mention the odd snarling fish <br />in a frame on the wall, <br />and the way these three candles-- <br />each a different height-- <br />are singing in perfect harmony. <br /> <br />So forgive me <br />if I lower my head now and listen <br />to the short bass candle as he takes a solo <br />while my heart <br />thrums under my shirt-- <br />frog at the edge of a pond-- <br />and my thoughts fly off to a province <br />made of one enormous sky <br />and about a million empty branches.<br /><br />Billy Collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-ask-you/
