When you upturn this planet by its crown
it will wander counterclockwise in orbit.
When I renounce my body, I will step out of it,
like a slip sidetracked by the air currents
of orb’s reversal.
The earth beneath us is shifting, and we know it,
all of the rules of the universe are tossed out,
just as a drawer turned upside down unloads its contents
or the heavens sprinkle morning with dusty light.
I could renounce my body, take life
into my fingers and strangle breath,
squeeze blood, mangle organs, cell by cell.
Perhaps someday I will look into His face again,
my child-sized frame smashed against the world’s debris.