And when the river dies
And its channel dries
And all its giddy sunfish flee away downstream;
What then
but to ask for more?
And when the thunderhead
Comes and pours,
and pummels roofs,
And throws down doors
And angers at empty plains,
ravaging poppy moors
And runs out of water to loose
And lightning to throw
What then
but to ask for more?
And when it blazes,
your pet fire,
roaring alight to brighten
The dimness of your blackened forest
And when it tires,
smoldering and sputtering
And wilts into cinders, drifting ashes:
rotting wind-caught poppy petals.
And hisses at rainfall,
dying upon its kiss,
What then but
to ask for more
And when I pale
and scream and whine
And kick and bite and thrash
And stomp and cry and wail,
and ravage innocent flowers
and lock slammed doors
And hiss at your touch of rainfall and
bat you away, again
What then? but to ask once more:
"Open the door,"
--please.