The teeth of your black ditch are sweet like the rest
Of the thin-lipped, sharp-hipped
Fierce things that animals show
White like the laughter of smoke in the chest
Long after
The brightness of the fields’ teeth go
The child-mother yells in violent madness
But your tight skin confessed not a vein in your chest
And the way that your breast did hang low
Animals need animals before the winter comes
The metal air swarms across those plains
My long-necked, freckle-specked
Heavy-chested, trust-invested
Sows her breath into my chest and hums
Now what kind of county line
Holds her ...
