I'll create a globe
and glue cotton to a blazing sky.
I'll dig a valley out of a mountain
and pencil in a man's shadow under an oak tree.
I'll place teary eyes and a stale lined mouth upon his face
and have his nose potent with the smell of the nearest lavender bed.
Then I'll take his tears and form a stream,
so when morning flies in he can wash his face of dry salt;
and once he gets a feel of warmth and embrace,
I'll turn a few pages and start all over again.