Collins


WAITING FOR THE CANADIAN GEESE AT FARR'S COVE



 They are not constant
 As the lake is constant
 But come and go like splendid
 Strangers in an airport lounge,
 Elegant, mysterious, unruffled,
 Poised always for flight,
 Their few accoutrements
 Decorous and obviously genuine.

 They please, and yet do not
 Expect pleasure from a lesser kind.
 They contain themselves but somehow
 Us as well. For their sweet mercy's
 Sake we are gladly slaves
 Content merely to be noticed.
 If only they will come.



 BICYCLES



 If we could share a common dream
 Bicycling, perhaps through Patagonia
 When a sudden rain would find us
 Inextricably in one another's arms
 There would be no time for questions
 In that intolerant forest, only the hawks
 Going down at sunrise to the innocent walleys
 And the dark music of their homeward flight.
 We would love in-between and after
 And before, not caring that the rain
 May never stop nor noticing the different
 mosses
 That clot the rusting wheels.