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?
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.