As scientists predicted, 

The axis of the world 

Reversed overnight. 

North became South, 

South North.

And you and I

Went falling

Into the moon. 

I am no scientist.

I have no solutions, 

Only a bitterness, 

Like tea that has been oversteeped,

Full of tannins

That stain my teeth, 

And leave my lips

Darkened.

But because I love you,

I am sending you

A little something 

To tide you over–

By snail mail, unfortunately.

Please be patient:

It should arrive in

3-4 business days. 

The first thing I am packing 

Is a psithurism–

The sound of wind soughing through 

The redwood trees, 

In that last summer

Before you were really

A woman. 

The second thing is

Light on still water,

Like so many minnows 

Darting in their diamond dance. 

I have taken it from Pillar Point:

The place around that old ship that has, 

Over many years 

And against all expectations, 

Entirely failed to sink. 

The third thing I am sending you

Is fire–a campfire dancing

From its windswept blue roots

To its effervescent golden manicure. 

I am sealing it all together 

With a very tight hug, 

The hardest hug I can give you

Without either of us breaking. 

I know

A hug is not enough

To bind 

Anyone

To the earth.

If gravity fails–

When gravity fails, 

It will be enough only

To hold you.