Poetry

When I was arranging daffodils 
you send in tanks. 
 
The sky was overcast. 
When I was talking to clouds 
Fireballs are delivered. 
 
That signals the specific gravity 
is shifting to knobs. 
The artist was going 
to disappear. 
 
I think of faithfulls. 
How beautifully they talk of 
two moons. 
 
I had decided to quit 
when you send in a hymn.