Tired World

where does the earth sit when she feels tired?

            is there an cosmic bench on which

she can breathe out deep breaths from weariness?

      where does earth rest when trodden and worn down

         when the spinning arcing looping days

            have worn long wrinkles

               of brown and grey clouds

streaking north and south?

      when does the world ache her ache

            and feel her weight?

can she give her wounds away

   to the care of other worlds?

      has saturn stretched its rings to her

         or jupiter its moon

      can mars cry red tears

         or mercury draw near?

will the sun’s rays warm earth’s skin

   when dawn breaks in early morn

         (a reminder of her molten strength

                        boiling at the core)?

earth, your spinning face,

   seems stern and wearing out…

how and where and when and why

      are questions full of doubt—

         i wish to take your soiled form

         and wash it white as snow,

         yet there is only one place for endless rest—

                        maybe we both can go?