My Felisberto in  General   

My felisberto is handsomer than your mergotroid,
although, admittedly, your mergotroid may be the wiser of the two.
Whereas your mergotroid never winces or quails,
my felisberto is a titan of inconsistencies.
For a night of wit and danger and temptation
my felisberto would be the obvious choice.
However, at dawn or dusk when serenity is desired
your mergotroid cannot be ignored.
Merely to sit near it in the garden
and watch the fabrications of the world swirl by,
the deep-sea's bathymetry wash your eyes,
not to mention the little fawns of the forest
and their flip-floppy gymnastics, ah, for this
and so much more your mergotroid is infinitely preferable.
But there is a place for darkness and obscurity
without which life can sometimes seem too much,
too frivolous and too profound simultaneously,
and that is when my felisberto is needed,
is longed for and loved, and then the sun can rise again.
The bee and the hummingbird drink of the world,
and your mergotroid elaborates the silent concert
that is always and always about to begin.

By James Tate

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Other poems by James Tate:

• A Knock On The Door
• Days of Pie and Coffee
• Dream On
• Goodtime Jesus
• Head of a White Woman Winking
• Like A Scarf
• Loyalty
• More Later, Less The Same
• My Felisberto
• My Great Great Etc. Uncle Patrick Henry
• Never Again The Same
• Non-Stop
• Restless Leg Syndrome
• Shut Up And Eat Your Toad
• Success Comes To Cow Creek
• The Definition of Gardening
• The New Ergonomics
• The Wrong Way Home
• Thinking Ahead To Possible Options And A Worst-Cas