To No One
In the middle of every night
you sleep silently beside me, the earth purposely
turns around, slightly
to the left and downwards. Yes that's what happens.
But that's not nearly all.
The ocean's voice
ceases it's rough, rhythmic salty shore pounding
and all the world-water
heaves over to the North Atlantic, piling up on itself between Reykjavic and near Oslo.
The leaves of every tree switch from green to gold and red
maybe just cuz they want to.
The international supply of scientific glassware fogs up
like clockwork, befuddling reason.
The ice of both poles begin singing the most stunning and ghostly Arctic angel-songs.
They say the aurora borealis shows up on the banks
of the Mississsippi,
and all the sighing mountains relax into the earth.
Why does all this happen, my love?