Thursday, November 19, 2015

The Master

Books from the master are slim.
They seem to measure the volumes
of rumpled up pages lying around
in a world of wicker baskets.
In view of all those wasted hours 
this collection that I am sifting through 
alone is the most prized one. 
A plant that flowers once in a lifetime. 
Why would such a plant survive?
Sneaking itself  from the predators 
that are everywhere, prowling like prose. 
"But why would poetry survive 
the onslaught of time?", the master asks
from the lofty book jacket with an impish smile.

(Billy Collins)

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