I'd like my house to be
a port of call for trade in poetry,
with me as harbour mistress
and my writing-desk as quay.
Craft that plied earth's waters
and the ether of the galaxy
would dock with merchandise
of metaphors and gifts of words.
Out of their holds would rise
the most enchanting language ever heard,
and couplets joined in pairs of wings
would fill the sky like birds.