I wake to the sound of planets
spinning, making maps in my head
I imagine us somewhere
out in space the outer space in elementary
school diagrams with planets all in a line
Mercury Venus Earth Mars
sized accordingly and colored by heat
Mercury: red Pluto: blue
I try picturing them as I fall asleep gradually
making them bigger until there is no room
•
we roll through
the earth like boulders collecting
leaves dirt other rocks
•
sometimes the rain forgets
in my garden
things grow
without my help
like the sungold
vining into the yard
kale once so lush
eaten to lace
•
I want to curl into tangled
limbs of rhododendron
cave-like and soft
to lie in the field surrounded
by orange and yellow trees
illuminated by sunlight
the way a warm fall day
convinces me that spring is approaching
molecules inside me rearrange
•
they forgot to teach us how
our bodies are connected
but I know some gravity is pulling me
holding me here
I am tethered an astronaut
•
our own fiery heat
the earth’s heart
watery sphere, suspended in time
shifting of tectonic plates
•
ants carry the earth away
piece by piece