However the body is described
And however the body is inscribed
I go down deeper
I go down below the road
Where the body takes its root
I take hold of the path
That is indivisible
And it’s time
Below the road
Deeper than the traffic
Below the peace
In the country I’m composed of
The poverty of the sea
The columns of broken hills
And the shattered escarpments
The mound of pillaged hills
And the chopped land
The excess of the sky
Whose grasping light
Reaches out
Far out beyond
The weeping land
And brings back
Handfuls of smoke
Mouthfuls of salt air
Dressing and stripping
With cloud and salt
The mourning field
However it is that I’m composed
Ugly and beautiful-ugly
Sad and dutifully alive
The same as you
According to a metaphor
Whose structure will never be found
In poetry
Eyes in the skin
With resentment in their eye-holes
Searching
For the words
For the tongue
In your tattooed faces
Your skins of lead
Your leaves of organs
Layering thickly
The dark bush
The skins of your cells
Your chemistry
Looking for your microscopic difference
But chiefly for the stories of belonging
To a path
Below the skin
Whose outside order is overcome
Who is both female and male
Human and subhuman
