thirty five

Aimless Love

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,

I fell in love with a wren

and later in the day with a mouse

that the cat had dropped under the dining room table.

In the shadows of an autumn evening,

I fell for a seamstress

still at her machine in the tailor's window.

and later for a bowl of broth.

steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.

This is the best kind of love, I thought,

without recompense, without gifts,

or unkind words, without suspicion,

or silence on the telephone.

The love of a chestnut,

the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.

No lust, no slam of the door--

the love of the miniature orange tree,

the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,

the highway that cuts across Florida.

No waiting, no huffiness, or even rancor--

just a twinge every now and then

for the wren who had built her nest

on a low branch overhanging the water

and for the dead mouse,

still in its light brown suit.

But my heart is always standing on its tripod,

ready for the next arrow.

After I carried the mouse by the tail

to a pile of leaves in the woods,

I found myself standing at the bathroom sink

gazing down affectionally at the soap.

by Billy Collins