My fingers ripple oceans on the globe.

I spin across the countries, racing planes

for fun. I poke around an island, probe

Antarctica, and pop right into Spain.

Beside the globe my country hangs. I fly

into this country of a childhood

where hearts don't break and time won't slip me by...

Then looking down I see the yellow wood

and problems. Raindrops fall and freeze my dreams

and crack me. I should figure numbers, not

the stars. I shake away the radiant beams,

but crawling numbers sneak. They won't be caught

across the page; that baffling little number town.

My country floats down to the floor...and drowns.