I have said you are my world,
And like a world you are.
Patches of warm, of desperate cold,
Temperate zones and dank depths.

Deep rifts, faults and cracks.
Pustules erupt with random indifference,
And great shimmering tracts
Of your hiding beauty blind me.

A map-maker's nightmare.
The explosions of your passion,
The icy wastes of a glacier stare,
Are ever mobile, dynamic.

Sometimes I try to sail your surface
From hurt to approval, pole to tropic.
With courage, without compass,
Lost until your magic globe spins.

You find me, not I, you.
And my own sphere spins wildly
As you search for me too
Casting eyes across my crust.

A field of heat meets a field of heat,
Like lightning, ripens corn.
Ice-cube, Icicle, they greet
Adhered until time melts their conjunction.