Not like a mouse Timidly hugging the wainscoting Did you meet the prismatic glitters Of July moonlight. Nor trailing scarves With threads of silver Did you attend Its slippered breeze-- Nor waving silvery scarves Threaded with prismatic colors Torn from passing rainbows. Oh, no. You came and sat On a flat wooden chair, Hard. And sweated all July. And stayed. You sat down hard On an old wooden chair, Sweating and wiping your face Prismatically.