A poem about an obsession: first draft
ATLASYou cannot solve the world
and she cannot solve your thought.
The horizon hatches in you
low and dark
and her fingers up and down your spine
are as altering
as the grass heads
to the wind.
She tenses for both of you
and watches you bear the earth.
Cowed and loving,
heart gripped and furrowed.
Mute in the audience
of your frown.