Christopher Reid

Solar System

A pole's the South Pole,
a cherry-tree's the North,
and I am slung between them—

the planet's shut and dreaming eye
in my abstract hammock
of longitude and latitude—

not seeing but feeling
the far, fierce,
fatherly frown of the sun—

while an intermittent breeze
passes across my swaying,
on its way from somewhere to elsewhere.


La Tartuga


© 2003 Electronic Poetry Review