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,
rocks carried.
Now I can’t meet you
or your eyes—just the boats
below in the harbor,
burning.
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.
from Poetry Northwest 05.1 Spring & Summer 2010More by Sierra Nelson from the library
Copyright © Sierra Nelson
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.