by Jonathan Aaron
From his collection entitled Corridor
Yes, everything's here, everything's right
where it should be, tranquil, luminous, sublime.
The wisdom of the ages, bread and books.
Not a hair on the nib of your pen;
you won't have to wipe it on your sleeve.
And you can be sure the wine cellar harbors only wine.
The elements present themselves - wind, stars, a storm.
But you're already dreaming up the names of sailing ships,
can't wait to get out of this place ...
Before you can say them aloud, or even sooner,
you're going to be running for your life,
like the pilgrim who fled Olympus because
he couldn't find a single goddess there.