whirled world

the globe spins on the tip of my index finger
as seas and shores slip seamlessly past my eyelashes.

I blink myself between mountains,
on river beds,
my breath evaporating like clouds,
close enough for me to kiss it
too close for me to miss it

behind fences
in street light
between the sheets
underwater

these whirled whispers,
curled lisps of love yous,
held tight in a fist,
crushed like moth wings,
or sprawled across pillows in a morning breathed sigh,
they cross oceans.

birdsong wakes a woman on the Cornish coast;
in Gaza, a child hums absent-mindedly;
a boy washes the sand off his feet on Venice beach.

someone gets fired,
a person lies despite their better judgement,
another stares at the horizon,
a businessman stumbles on the train and feels embarrassed for the rest of the day,
that teenager is listening to their favourite song on repeat.

fingers drumming on the table,
the sound of applause,
tears in the shower,
criss cross the planet like electricity
as we orbit the sun
over
and
over
again.

because everyone sneezes in the same language;
the only difference between here and there is the letter ‘t’,
but we’re still in denial

on both sides of the wall,
we’re just as bad at stifling yawns
and we all suffer falls

so take the planet between your hands,
this whirled world,
unfurled world,
hurled between a rock and a hard place,
hold its face in your palms
and whisper sweet nothings into its ear
before it stops listening.