New Poem.

I spun in, twisting, rotating
out of control. My whirring 
stifled her pleas. I could not focus
on her face, or on my heart.

Not enough, shine
on her cheek; not enough,
her sweet words.
Not enough, not enough.  

If there were things
she could have done
to make my spinning stop,
I know she would have;

but only a fool would have tried,
and she was no fool.  She saw me
drilling down, descending,
whenever I tried to stand still,

and so she let me go. I spun down into 
bedrock, aimed without aiming
at the core far below, knowing I would burn
if I went that far, knowing that here,

left behind, would be her face,
her words, her sweetness,
her anchoring care and cautious love;
still, I could not stop myself, and I spun in.