to the brown account of children Grandfather raised
At first, no life
mark shivers among bits of them
that (sliced into slivers) unite into a blind shadow.
your gloom from a hillside, flip it on its black writhing back;
wipe the crusted dirt with sunlight.
This is bread
for thin thoughts. This is the unwashed goliath
that slaps a tombstone from your foot.
we create life with grunts and thrusts; as skin
we embrace our symbiotic bones.
as bleached sticks in the loam:
Here points the fibula of Daniel to the lion; here the radius
and tarsals of Alexander
the tubercular milk.
This piece first appeared in Ditch Poetry, January 2014.