BIll Collins "Litany"

Litany by Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine.  You are the dew on the morning grass,
and the burning wheel of the sun.  You are the white apron of the baker and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums on the counter, or the house of cards.  And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. There is no way you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible you are the fish under the bridge, maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head, but you are not even close to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show that you are neither the boots in the corner nor the boat asleep in the boathouse.

It might interest you to know, speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, that I am the sound of the rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star, the evening paper blowing down an alley, and the basket of chestnuts on the wooden table.

I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman’s teacup. But don’t worry, I am not the bread and the knife. You are still the bread and the knife. You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and – somehow – the wine.