Poetry

Where do you stand― 
in the crowd, for the love of a cause― 
your feet cannot measure the ache 
of the earth, respecting the rhythm 
of a lone survivor. 
 
Can you believe in the fall of a titan? 
 
Stranded in accuracy 
for a salt lick for 
a zipless mouth wide open. 
 
Intuiting, 
what the flesh would not say. 
 
And I keep standing by the midriff to see the face.