If the sun were a bowling ball,
I have read,
the earth would be a peppercorn
somewhere down the hill
across the street.
If the earth were a bowling ball,
its face were smoother still,
ocean deeps and mountain heights
How then should I cross that ocean,
climb that mountain,
and tell the sun
my fascination with your face?
Better just to take you bowling
and smile to see
as the pins fall.
(Originally appeared in Woud You Dance?)