The Ground

i would see the new town in your eyes
except that i see it in your teeth
rows and rows of white houses
grown thin and translucent at the top
shark's teeth    except for the wear
the grain above jaw the grinding
the decades of hot and stormy winters
the slush and bake of never giving up

such a peaceful face    the bone beneath it
going harder and harder    brittleness not cramp
the hard long swim in one's own juices
the wetness of gaze    the red-run field
behind its center    feeding of blood
the grind along city streets newspapers being delivered

from Purgatorial (2004)