Ars Poetica Op. 12 No. 4

Ars Poetica Op. 12 No. 4

And this is what those fingers
that are not mine –
are mine
are doing: Playing like children
on the first day of summer.

They run to the fields and
throw themselves at each other without care.
They create havoc.
They are loud. They are wild. They are savage.
They catch fireflies with mason jars.

When night comes they won’t stop playing.
They play until they are tired and then
then they find their way home. They crawl into bed
and dream of that first golden day of summer.
“Tomorrow will be like this,”
they whisper to no one.


Ars Poetica Op. 12 No. 4

2 thoughts on “Ars Poetica Op. 12 No. 4

  1. bongolong says:

    Tommy, this is wonderful! The last stanza is beautiful. This reminds me of Ray Bradbury whose writing I’ve always admired, the way he can paint an almost complete picture with only a handful of words. Well done!!!


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