Please come back tomorrow.
As I thought about this with delight the rest of the day, it occurred to me that part of my pleasure was in the poetic moment of it, the pure joy we poets take in words and how they are used and how we love to be ambushed by the unexpected word. The element of surprise that we strive for--there it was on the monitor.
And I recalled another such moment just a few weeks ago. Our electrical box blew up one Sunday night. Lots of action followed--cop cars, fire engines, flashing lights, sirens, all the neighbors outside waiting to see what disaster had come onto our street. But no burning house. Just a dark, dark house. The next day the electrician hooked us back up temporarily while he ordered parts. The following Monday he showed up with his son, maybe 14 years old, a boy he's training in the intricacies of electricity. I heard him teaching his son the names of things. And then I heard him call the boy "honey." I felt deeply touched by that. So sweet, so unexpected. I don't think I've ever before heard a man call his son "honey," so it surprised and delighted me. It seemed like poetry.