Poem for the Depressed

Beneath your chair gravity
reverses itself at the center
of the earth! Why mope,
knowing this or that
nobody in space is worried
about what worries you?
Cheer up! Think
how ceilings are shaped
like floors, think
of words like mango.

Remember golf balls, and how
when you cut them
they ran atomically
across the rug
unwrinkling their little cores
in a frenzy of rubber bands?

Out there somewhere
a recess bell is about to ring
right now
and a diver deep in some sea
depressurizes, and rises,
and probably a just-born kangaroo
worms
through miles of fur
toward a pouch, and makes it.

This is for you:
stop reading
and go outside.
In winter trees are plans in the sky.