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Clomping through the sand after having read
a book of poems by Billy Collins
I feel that Billy would approve
if I tried to borrow his easy cadence, tone,
his airiness and melancholic optimism
as I observe an osprey dive into the Atlantic
then ascend with a silver fish in its beak.
Back at the condo I stroll out onto the balcony
and lie back on a plastic Adirondack. A slight breeze
ruffles the curtains of the sliding glass doors.
I sip at a glass of aged Malbec and gaze at
the vacationers still down on the beach.
Why am I not at...