Spin

I want to lie on the fibers of the paper earth
stretch my palms over the farmlands, spattered with blue puddles.
When I push my wrists through soil yielding like cake,
I think I've nudged the earth,
sped up that spinning orb,
and I hear the roar of far off oceans sloshing against the wales of the continents.
The trees, too, whisper with more force;
because the earth is gliding ever faster
carrying them under heavy clouds, through the air with breathless speed.

But I've let go now, risen
over wavering wheat stalks to admire the view.
And the tides girdle the earth
and sweep over it and slow it back with nary a sigh.