A Drum, A Drum

at the bus stop,		I have hands.
it makes me turn		my coffee and
catch my breath.		A drum
a drum a drum			I have a lung
or two, I see			an angled horse.

I’m tapping out		  the morse
of Oiseaux Tristes.		

a forest can’t		  be caged, per se.
it could be made	    to go away
instead.

I play at least		    an hour a day.
and far away		    the bus, again
(not my bus	            but that’s okay.)
it’s okay but		      I have hands.

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