Somewhere Still

Someone says we're living
on a flying rock.
I can repeat the sentence
from a chair that has not moved.

At night I lift my thumb
until it covers a star.
The star has not shrunk.
Its light meets my hand
before it reaches my eye.

How fast is Earth moving?
Against what?
Against the Sun: one speed.
Against the Milky Way's centre: another.
I left the frame
out of my question.

I want somewhere still.
The chair is still
relative to this room.
The room travels with Earth.

I don't feel that motion.
The chair still holds me.
I mistake not feeling it
for not being in it.

I lower my hand.
One star returns.
I am still in my chair.
The Earth is moving.
I can say both
without getting up.