Tuesday, April 14, 2015

No, Tom 

Take your hands off the raincloud, Tom, 
God told Thomas; 
Go wring that towel you dropped into the pool. 

Leave my twilight alone, Tom, 
God told Thomas; 
Light a candle and pray. 

Don’t wipe your soles on my prairie grass, Tom, 
God told Thomas; 
Load them with grains from the sand-pit. 

Don’t eye my lotus stems, don’t chase my backwater ducks, 
don’t covet that little squirrel’s tail fur. 

Don’t play my broken reeds, Tom; 
Play the drum that you left behind.

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