He's got...

 

He’s got….

He squeezed, rolled, and patted

the whole world. The ball warmed


volcanoes compressed.

In his hands fissures spill out moisture.

Which remains whole. The once smooth red

clay World, now gnarled

and pinched offers little for life. In his hands

this world, a worthless refuge, could exist

when he’s got the whole wide world of possibility.

This planet is not a friendly place,

this planet in his hands is not a hospitable place,

this planet is barely hanging on.

And I with it.

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