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.