Our Bodies
Our bodies still young under
the engraved anxiety of our
faces, and innocently
more expressive than faces:
nipples, navel and pubic hair
make anyway a
sort of face: or taking
the rounded shadows at
breast, buttock, balls,
the plump of my belly, the
hollow of your
groin, as a constellation,
how it leans from earth to
dawn in a gesture of
play and
wise compassion-
nothing like this
comes to pass
in eyes or wistful
months.
I have
a line or groove I love
runs down
my body from breastbone
to waist. It speaks of
eagerness, of
distance.
