An apologetic delay with some unapologetic lines from a poet with whom I ate dinner once in Florida (as did our whole graduate class) thanks to our William Logan. I sat beside Derek Walcott. He was a friendly giant. This one’s from The Best American Poetry, 1997, edited by James Tate.
from Italian Eclogues / by Derek Walcott
breed and flit in the cave of the mind, and one hears
in the waves’ incantation and the August conifers,
and reads the ornate cyrillics