A Short Poem — If I could
pull down the moon; I would probably break Earth’s atmospheric hood
and, accidentally,
make scorched land from lake and wood; I would, probably, let it fall on me
right there where I stood; I would probably jump to it, even if it should
destroy me — instantly, or — slowly,
or — for good; I would let the great shock of mystery surprise me
and just hope my love understood.