Every once and a while I'll come across a poem that allows my mind to wander; my imagination run free. Billy Collins writes a lot of these types of poems. He will often begin with a very ordinary moment in time, and let his mind wander - let the speaker take the reader to an imaginary world - and often end up in a very meditative state, always leaving the reader with a point to consider. It is always fun for a poet to take a line from one of his poems and let his or her own mind wander (or maybe just let the pen wander on the page), and see what happens. This poem is a result of one of those wanderings, maybe a little too much wandering, but nonetheless ended in a short poem of imaginitive and even fantastic nature.
ANGELS
I sometimes wonder how many angels
can dance on the head of a pin. Three,
maybe four at most, their feet moving
with divine precision, contemplating
each step before it falls. The answer,
I think, is closer to one - balanced dip,
arms outspread, she would have only
enough room to bend with the altering
rhythm of an antique gramophone.
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