WEBVTT

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A spin around the house.

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I rise from the table starting
to whirl, nowhere to go.

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Cinnamon peach cake
lumped in my cheek.

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My arms streaked out
to my children each

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clutching a blown blue glass
half filled with milk, moon

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crescents on each upper lip.

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Stars, I must have stars.

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And out I swirl immediate
master of my need.

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Only my eyes lighting
my body's windy way

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to a familiar pine
in its real place

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at the first slope
of the solid hill.

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Everything spins in its
chosen space, I will it so.

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A stars held silence
parlors my cinnamon lips.

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And my arms, each elbow
galaxy circle it all in.

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What shall I do with it?

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I have nowhere to go.

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The spectral pine
belongs where it is.

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My children whirl with
the house beyond my wrist.

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Moonlit chimney smoke
curls a comet's tail.

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Nothing is missing.

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It is all absolutely there.

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I have food enough in my cheek
to last the rushing starlight

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through.

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As pale grass choirs
in its remembered

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sleep where Ursa
the bear leapt home.

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And the dipper ladled its milk
and pointed tilting North.

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And there, the North Star
flares above my pine,

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above my house with nothing to
do but return circling my arms.

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Whirling in my eyes,
which now are sons,

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and our gods in
their chosen room,

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each lifting a blue
glass with a table spins.

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And their splurge laughter
gathers turning white.

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