where does the world sit when it feels tired?
is there an endless bench that overlooks our universe?
where does earth rest when trodden and worn down
when the spinning arching looping days
have worn long wrinkles
with brown and grey clouds streaking north and south?
when does the world ache its ache
and feel the weight of itself
can it give its wounds away
to the care of other worlds?
has saturn stretched its rings to her
or jupiter its moon
can mars give itself away
or mercury draw near?
will the sun’s rays warm earth’s skin
when dawn breaks in early morn
and reminder of her molten strength
boiling at the core?
earth, your spinning face,
seems to be stern and wearing out…
how and where and when and why
are questions full of doubt—
i wish to take your endless form
and wash it white as snow,
yet there is only one place of endless rest—
maybe we both can go?