Spinning

Gliding down this green, fingers finding flow  

syncing graceful pirouettes

of this cobwebbed globe –

the way after all these years

it still spins

into a single solitary colour,

the way I spin it some more

to stay in this comfort

of the world feeling borderless,

just the sameness of longings and leaps

of our bruised and riddled hearts

singing the same songs, exaggerating the same lines, glassy-eyed

over the same scene

from a highly streamed season, sobbing anyway

when the strum from an overplayed Yesterday

strikes a chord with that part of our hearts

resisting band-aids,

just us not understanding

wars over differences

when two mothers

at opposing time zones

wipe tears and hum lullabies

for their unborn child

as the earth spins.