The sun brines in a sticky chicken broth / watching one to eight float in her belly
The sun brines in a sticky chicken broth
watching one to eight float in her belly,
they revolve like marbles in cheesecloth.
The planets remain shy and neighbourly.
They hear Neptune pull Saturn by her rings:
“A new moon for them,” stars hiss childishly.
They quietly watch the crescent as it sings
to the unborn child’s cosmic heartbeat.
Globes of ashtrays envy solar tidings.
How easy they make it seem to complete
a full circle, breathing evenly through
every axis in their orbit without defeat.
Earth mocks men who forget their orbit.
But this world does not revolve around an axis,
(its people do).