I took my new toy, an iPhone 6+, down under the willow late this afternoon.
There was a silver shimmer on the water. It was very quiet.
The Invention of Heaven
The mind becomes a field of snow
but then the snow melts and dandelions
blink on and you can walk through them,
your trousers plastered with dew.
They're all waiting for you but first
here's a booth where you can win
a peacock feather for bursting a balloon,
a man in huge stripes shouting about
a boy who is half swan, the biggest
pig in the world. Then you will pass
tractors pulling other tractors,
trees snagged with bright wrappers
and then you will come to a river
and then you will wash your face.
Now and Then; the Poet's Choice Columns, 1997-2000,
by Robert Hass, Shoemaker & Hoard, 2007, page 236.
Another neat form to suit the matter of the poem: two
six-line stanzas and a couplet. Something else to try. . .