SHARPEN MY TOOLS, YOU PEASANT.

Why do you take away my brain when it rains?

Where does the laundry go when it’s being washed?

Do we have days and weeks in Heaven?

Do you ever wonder where the baby birds go once they fly?

The pond may shine, and it is home to the toads.

Mow the front yard with no shoes, don’t check the mail.

Sometimes, if I think too hard, my eyes float above the surface,

Of the Black Sea. Where memories fry and ocean tides eat you.