Who knows what will impress you?
a massive building shining
implacable in the sun?
Something soft and furry, perhaps
or a diamond, or a war.
I could conjure one, with plenty of death
and heartache-- or speak of love instead--
how one afternoon, for hours
I gazed at the myriad expressions
on a lovely face.
Perhaps money impresses you
or, an original Warhol
or furniture, or the glint of gold on your wrist.
I don’t know. I’m impressed myself
with the desert silence, a cloud
the freedom of animals,
the daily poems in growing grass,
the patient trees. What impresses me
is the savage push and pull of the sea
the ancient shine of stars,
the lonely position we hold, suspended
swimming with life,
shouting into the sky.