W.S. Merwin

You got to owe it to the clock, the poems are sold
by the old foot in the door trick, you drop by with a tree
and you tell the reader, why it is just a plain beech
So they take no notice, not knowing it is in a myth
or something, and when the aforementioned writer
swings by again, it is a word, and to tell the truth
it is just a simple one, nothing above your head
in the lexicon of the ordinary, one could quite easily
be taken in, with this pious knock on the door, search
for nothing except you find in the house, a chipped
cup, the pattern, however on inspection gets the eye
to look a little bit closer, then he comes along again
in his modest way, tells you, it just might be spiritual
Just when you are savouring this little homily
He speaks Spanish, Lord he's speaking in Tongues!
Now you had thought in this collected identity
where writer and reader became one, you'd escape
However, you know it makes sense, W.S. Merwin
and his poetry is up there on the fine oak shelf.