The sky peeled back like a banana
as we watched the water
tornado down the plug hole.
And on that day
I remembered the Wicked Witch of the West,
the way the dustman whistled tunes
I could never place.
But you remember the famine?
Well, on the sixth day, I pictured you as a juicy steak
dribbling down my chin
thinking of that first bite.
The ice sculptures you carved for me last winter
have started to melt.
I just thought you should know
that I sit here and watch them slowly change shape,
drop by drop.