By James Arthur Holt
Climb up to me, please …
I am a butterfly harvest of silk
scarves hanging from the ceiling …
Lie down before me, please …
I am a reindeer herd of furs
piled polar and Kodak deep …
You smell their slaughter.
I am the only balance of nature you have to know
Let the furs move you like wheat,
let the scarves tickle you to sleep.
I wrote this in Toronto Aug. 15, 1979.