POEM OF THE DAY
December 23
I lay my body into the warm place
that is the map of my continent.
The icy sea laps the cliffs of my body,
unprotected by hot sand or warm shoals.
Should the peninsula of my legs and feet drift south to the Pole,
it will still be winter there.
I lay my body into the warm place
that is the map of my continent.
The icy sea laps the cliffs of my body,
unprotected by hot sand or warm shoals.
Should the peninsula of my legs and feet drift south to the Pole,
it will still be winter there.