The head must bow to the heart,
which is why I always look down;
if the earth is round and round
I’ll be wrong until the ends of it.
Beautiful, you said, and meant
the sea. Reminding me—
there are walls to be built,
Now I can’t meet you
or your eyes—just the boats
below in the harbor,
The wind shakes the earth
from its four corners;
the flames are picking up,
or is that me shaking?
Look, I’m right—the sun is underwater.
Now get out of here with that lion’s skin
on your back.
Copyright © Sierra Nelson
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.