Paul Willis

A Short Walk on a Hot Morning

Long pile of pipes,
    where exactly will you be laid?
        Where will you bring water
            from this narrow well?

*

Burnt log fallen across the wash,
    you are a bridge over missing water,
        illuminated shore to shore
            by little lampposts of poison oak.

*

Eucalyptus, reaching your gray-green
    shaggy hand into summer sky,
        what is it you hope to grasp?

*

Little pond in the creek bed,
    you are a sea for yellowjackets
        to circle in their thirsty ships.

*

Nasturtium twining in the oak,Nasturtium twining in the oak,
    you stop us here
        like a dayglow caution sign.

*

Live oak, twisting your arms
    to the beat of wind and shade and sky,
        what is on your playlist now?

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Paul Willis has published eight collections, the most recent of which is Losing Streak. Individual poems have appeared in Poetry, Christian Century, Southern Poetry Review, Writer’s Almanac, and Best American Poetry. He lives with his wife, Sharon, near the old mission in Santa Barbara, California.