I gave my globe a spin
and watched it whirl -
far too fast to read
the blood-bought labels,
printed on its paper shell.

The summer dawn summoned me
beyond the entry door,
so I stepped outside to
plant my boots on a larger sphere
where the scale is one to one
and all the hues are earth tones.

I raised my hand to feel the sweep
of a morning breeze
and stooped to cup a draft
from a meandering stream.

That hand might be mine or theirs
or yours or ours. It’s all the same!

There is only one air mass,
but a single body of water
and not a hectare of sod
can draw its borders or confess its name.

April, 2025