The Afternoon Tune

I lost my heart or my heart lost me,
Beat its way through the day and out to sea –

The foxglove rolling like carillon bells
And the silver sky roving with little cells.

Of course the clouds lift up their pantaloons
For the building knells of the afternoon

And the banking pipers like waving wipers,
Use their motors like rising roller coasters.

I met man in a linen suit
Who touched his cane to his Hessian boot;

He followed me like a yellow chick
Even though the briar was thick.

I scooped up a cup of flower fluff
And made a tea that tasted rough.

He said he had to wonder
Why I was pulling him under.

This is not the same day
That leaves the water filled with gray.

This is not the simple room
That feels like silent tomb.

The crust of the bread
Into which I bleed.

I lost my heart on pungent day.
It carried me away.
It asked me to stay.