Note To Selves

Conversion By Billy Collins

I would like to spend the day on the slope
of a mountain, listening to a parable
about a lost sheep or a blighted vineyard.

For months my only companion would be this story,
and the more I told it to myself
the clearer everything would become.

Then, I would remove my helmet of opinions
and walk into the public streets
revealing the soft brown mushroom of my head.

I would repeat the story to small groups of men
drawing illustrations in the sand with a stick.
I would leave them murmuring in a circle.

And late at night when the cold wind found
the chinks of my house
and disturbed the candle stub next to my bed,

I would hear the story told by the tongue of flame
and watch the shadows of my former self
flicker on the low ceiling and the walls of stone.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 18th, 2009 at 1:58 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.