Urge

i make an honest plea for
these spheres to
take a rapid turn--
whip through space
and cut through the
slow arrogance of the stars
until they simmer behind
and can know their place--
to take ease in sleeping
as i hang my blames
on their brilliant edges.
and while the agent of blaze
dashes--lanterns lit--
across the end,
i can thank the white eyes of intent
for locking
into black--

and now comes
the pleasing lull,
where i
may murmur at
my own disbelief--

the feeling in the fantastic weight
of a universe spinning
too fast
in the palm of
my dreaming hand.