For those who have never swum
past the sharp edge
of the coast’s sandy trim,
let me tell you,
there is no sea floor,
it is water all the way down
to China

Europe, Africa, Asia,
North and South America,
Australia and the Antarctic,
the islands in clusters
and alone, float
like crackers on soup

For those who have never dug a hole,
the lawns, the parks and the fields
are like carpets slung between the roads

And beneath the roads,
and beneath the foundations of our houses,
there is nothing but space,
space without stars,
punctured by tree roots
and the sharp ends of fence posts

For those who never climbed a tree
when they were light enough
to get high enough
to reach through the canopy,
the sky is concave and cool to the touch,
it feels like the underside
of a porcelain bowl