Poetry by Guest Contributor, Billy Collins

On the 6 train rocketing under the streets,
I am looking forward to nothing
so much as the sight of the ceramic beavers
that distinguish the walls of the Astor Place station.

Such time without end is gathered
in their unwearied forepaws clutching a tree trunk
and the buck teeth forever gnawing—
never to taste the bark, never to fade away.

Not only in church
and nightly by their bedsides
do young girls pray these days.

Wherever they go,
prayer is woven into their talk
like a bright thread of awe.

Even at the pedestrian mall
outbursts of praise
spring unbidden from their glossy lips.

Billy Collins is the author of several books of poetry, including She Was Just Seventeen and The Trouble With Poetry and Other Poems. His poetry has been featured in various periodicals and anthologies, and he has received fellowships from the New York Foundation for the Arts, the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation. He was named U.S. Poet Laureate in 2001.