The things on my mind,
that are flying around me,
as they come to land.
And I land each one,
and put it in a hanger,
and then close the door.
It’s raining outside,
and the sky is steely grey.
but it warm at home.
There’s holes in the ground,
and that go down a long way,
aerating the earth.
Okay, one more try,
if I must I’ll get it right,
dead in the middle.
