Lifted above the brush Stones and pebbles that line the road— And I will throw them Because that pond Beside the lightning-split tree Is shaking. And I must throw them Because that pond Beside the blackened tree Must shake forever. And I am throwing now and forever Because that pond Glows with the Sky That I have never seen shake Besides the lightning-split tree That shook to the blue tips, and I felt electric on Finger-tips and parted lips until I spoke and heard nothing In return from the Sky— Miss Mary enjoys sweet tea and toast and jam and evening walks and cool jazz that glides beneath her wings and carries her away and— Still no one hears what never moves but beside the charred tree there are signs that the sky opens every now and again until I shake and shake and shake and stare at Miss—whatever her name is now— and think: “Pebbles and stones drown When I throw and so We line the bottom of the Pond With wishes and death. Won’t you throw a stone for me?” And Thomas touches toes to exercise before jogging round the home and past the Pond. But why run when there are horse and automobiles? But I must throw forever Until I climb that tree On my cool jazz wings and Laugh in the face of all those Music critics who say there Must be conflict. Beside that decaying tree I smile as I reach back down for another stone hoping that the storm clouds are finally gathering in the Sky. Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home… Past Thomas and past the Pond.