With a Glance at the Equator

If I am a world then the climate
is rapidly changing.

Gone now is the dodo,
gone druids, unicorns.
My coats tire of warning away
the full fire of the cosmos.

Through patches and holes
I am singed and boiled.
One of these days I will face
the sinking sun himself.

Continents drift without my permission.
There are tracks in the sea;
the great plates ride
on sandy rails
of unknown origin.
Who is he, this engineer who charts
where my heart will settle?

Icebergs bob like battleships
atop the warming ocean. Their sheer
hulls melt : cool water swells
to wash my white-hot belly.

photograph by Farley Vaughan


hbynoe said...


Leslie Avon Miller said...

Always enjoy your work.

Katie said...

I love the part about the continents drifting without your permission. As always, Kate, beautiful.

Mr. Apron said...

This should be required reading, instead of Al Gore's little documentary, and not just for the fact that you need to read it instead of watch it.

Jay said...

This is my first time here, I had no idea what I would find.

This reminded me a little of Pablo Neruda, I have to add you to my Google reader list now just so I can share this.

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