The New Moon Poem by James McLain

At the center of the world
I pace back and forth at the edge
moving the wheat to and fro inside
the wind
where tornadoes are never formed.
Crushing the world inside your hand,
where light is from
the other side formed the source of and for.
After you who are after.
Theese are the ones, whom inverse the broad twisters.
Then can push them up into and out of your
hands, without the normal way you consider into,
then came out from the other side of you informed.
Still I am in the west of the peninsula
where wet, moist hardly dry eye.
I stand am the swallowed all the way
to the base of the tree and I like you would face.
Coming back I walk inside the window
and stay where I slept last night figured out
comes again.