​Electron streams rising from deep
Within the planet’s atmosphere
Power Jupiter’s polar auroras,
Poor Jupiter! It’s neither here

Nor there, chaotic storms swirl
And reel. And someone is reeling in his room,
His head bounces against the wall,
“I’ll lock the couch in place with this broom

“Against the window, so the light won’t seep
Through the bleary sides….” Put down the couch,
Think: What is special about my home?
If your head is doubtful, you cannot vouch

That your writing-desk is unique, and you
Race from room to room, the pattern
Of the rooms reflects your soul,
The sun sets, and view the rings of Saturn.

​“Should I go to the concert, the movies, the elevating
Talk, spinning class, walk
On the beach, maybe the solar 
Observatory, the political speech?”

And he suffered from the ads that fluttered
And Facebook and Whatsapp, that strolled in his soul,
Because he wanted to plant a tree deeply,
He was tired of the entire rigmarole--

He wanted his thoughts and movements to be
So deep that on a Januarynight
He would look and say, “Well, that’s my tree,
Dusted white, tinted with moonlight,”

Rooted in the soil of a forest 
Whose silence is so deep that one’s mind
Descends, there is a ravine, a chasm,
A serpent pours out and leaves behind

Its skin, in the depth of the earth are the seeds,
The insect eggs, the navigating
Worms, a rich, brown earth, the mind
Descends into a single waiting