At night in my parents’ yard, I’d spin
                                                               and spin
till I was reeling in the sky—
a spiral
                                    galaxy of self
                        the universe
                                                revolved around.
Then, as my staggering
                                        steps                                   
                                                   expanded,
                                                                        space began
to contract.
                        A brute force
dragged me to the dewy ground.
There, firmly in the grasp of grass,
                                                         I felt
 what I’d pulled in
                                unravel out of me.
 Porous as a sponge and squeezed by something vast
 and intangible,
                          I lay like a lump
                                                       of clay
 awaiting reanimation
                                     while, through a nauseous vertigo,
 I saw the light of all the clustered stars,
      arcing
                                      like spears, flung far too thick for me to dodge.