What You See On The Ground
What you see on the ground, you see
through the cracked lens
of your eye. You glimpse the shadow,
which might be the movement of strangers,
speaking the prosthetic words
heard
on the twists of an unknown tongue.
What you see on the ground, you see
through a sporadic film
of stagnant water. You see the sunset
from under your lids, the thunder of feet
crunching their way
through the whining light.
What you see on the ground, you see
through the glaze
of the day's hard grind. It does not matter
much
which side you lie on, you still sense
that the world is dead to you, as you
are dead to the world.
And what you see on the ground, you see,
being quite killed,
is the silt of your self: dust.
