Dear Poet,
I thought I'd write you a poem about the land tide. It'd go a little something like this:
How would it feel, to go so slow,
snail slow, superslow enough
to feel the land tide? To feel the few inches
that the earth lunges towards, leans towards, the moon.
Leaning and lunging with the land tide,
you'd feel your own blood rising up
with it, tingling the top of your head,
you might jump up, at the peak of the land tide, and you'd go a little higher,
leaping imperceptibly further.
