Why fret the vastness of the world?

Trample endlessly its belly, hungering

for its thighs.  Embrace there a sun,

sweat it out, dreaming of frost.

Return full-circle

to kiss the winter dew of its forehead.

It amounts to the same

if never you broke the landscape

of your semi-circled arms,

the digested minutia of your home

spun in earthworm time,

regretting the absence

of foreign suns and frosts.

Still the world

fits snugly an eye socket,

is the size of the last dime

in your pocket

you’ve been saving

to quench your thirst.