Fear of Climate Change

I feel like I’m in between

two locomotives—or two icebergs—
both the prairie and the sea are green;

a porpoise breaks the surface, and fields of grain
wave like a grand meat-slicer;
I feel like I’m in between

two epochs, pliocene and holocene—
the pleistocene age of ice,
to be precise, an age that was never green—

when poets had to use plain
language to get on the page;
I feel like I’m in between

bright ecstasy and a world of pain;
and I want to ask how many ergs
it takes to turn my whiskers green

and always use so large a fan
that they cannot be seen: that’s the stage
I want to tread upon—right in between
a glacier and a hot place in your dreams.