Okay when each ghost
Has said its last hello
Okay peanut butter and dusk sandwiches
Okay the faults
For the walks I take I begin by the seams
I pitch ideas to the sea
I read The Philosophy of Meteorites, by E M Comet
Okay when the sun turns nova
And like a harp
Shows its guts.
Okay the angels having banished our socks
Leaving us with an odd number of shoes.