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