I drilled a tunnel
which spanned the width of the world
and grazed its iron core.
The southern constellations lit my night.
I aligned my telescope and saw
pale daylight.
I lined my tunnel
with insulating frictionless gunk.
Sometimes I jump.
The Coriolis force spirals my ride.
I accelerate, slow, accelerate, slow,
stop and step out on the other side.
The locals say hello.
I made a ladder
from seven thousand, nine hundred woven letters
stretched into miles.
Sometimes I climb down and step off halfway.
Beside Earth's heart
gravity pulls as gently as an inhalation
and weight falls away.
I angled mirrors,
two at each end, four in all.
Light skids around the glossy walls.
On my left the sun sets and on my right dawn breaks
simultaneously.
I float in a rose and apricot phase.
This is where I read your poetry.