Reading Poetry

Two weeks of
turning the pages
and turning down corners
of Billy Collins,
and Wendell Berry,
and Mary Oliver.

Sitting with three old souls,
who speak in soft tones,
murmuring and mulling
over the things most true.

Just us four.
Each one, in turn, 
looks at me square
and sees my soul
and tells me who I am,
that I'm peculiar in all the right ways
and quite right in celebrating
the world the way I do.

"Be not bridled
by the unromantic ritual of daily life,"
says Mary,
with a conspiratorial lean.

"Yes," nods Billy.
"The Devil is in the doldrums,
so romanticize the hell out of them."

"Right out,"
smiles Wendell
between puffs of his pipe.
"Right out."

These three and me
with tea
between us.
Talking about little things
that are the biggest things in the world.