Two poets

The Red Wheelbarrow 
William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon 
a red wheel
barrow 
glazed with rain
water 
beside the white
chickens.



Sitting at Night on the Front Porch
Charles Wright - 1935-

I’m here, on the dark porch, restyled in my mother’s chair.
10:45 and no moon.
Below the house, car lights
Swing down, on the canyon floor, to the sea.

In this they resemble us,
Dropping like match flames through the great void
Under our feet.
In this they resemble her, burning and disappearing.

Everyone’s gone
And I’m here, sizing the dark, saving my mother’s seat.