Upon re-reading Billy Collins' "Sailing Around the Room"
Without fail I always find
new poetry here. Haunting little
images I didn't catch the first
time I tiptoed through this
little graveyard of a book.
I think, in your honor, I
will begin hiding little poems
myself: haiku beneath the
local park benches, a sonnet
at the local pay-phone,
a sestina beneath the bleachers
at John J. Riley High School.
I think if I hide enough,
then everyone will feel what
I feel now: this Christmas morning,
Tutenkamen, apple falling
sense of discovery that has
led me to write a small poem
of my own, you'll most likely find
behind the milk at your nearest Randall's
or braided in the chopstick nest
of some uncritical sparrow.