Journey to the Core

The unseen center of the earth
is liquid—a battery without parts,

a buried sun. Like a heart,
its power is warmth, not light.

With no requirement beyond being,
it aligns waves of magnetism

to dress the planet. The only instrument
to measure it truly is imagination,

and I picture it turning, newly sprung arms
of magma reaching in the dark

to embrace and absorb,
embrace and absorb in a perpetual hug.

And if hell is there, at least it is a place
protected from all of us.