Olives in twisted colloquy, the lowering storm.
Broom-swept gray rock half-lucid as smoked glass
Watch with calm the struck Vespa hit the grass
Whose bright chrome hurries to shatter the numb worm.
A quaint stone wall: we haul him, howling, from the road
To the local unstaffed hospital where the white
Sister Superior with her two canaries sits out
Easter, disaster, and the astral sinking of the toad.