Sometimes I wake up and wonder:
Is that the gentle shimmy of tectonic plates,
Or the powerful flow of
blood from my chest to my feet?
I lay there on my hard futon,
Trying to identify the source of the movement
Some groggy, eyes-shut-waking mornings
I cannot tell if it’s the Richter
Or just my heart moving fluids.
And in the moment of settling, I think
The Earth and I may have something in common;
The need to readjust a little bit,
Give a small shimmy, expand the veins,
So we can go back to sleep.

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