THE LARGENESS WE CAN’T SEE

When our laughter skids across the floor

Like beads yanked from some girl’s throat,

What waits where the laughter gathers?

And later, when our saw-toothed breaths

Lay us down on a bed of leaves, what feeds

With ceaseless focus on the leaves?

It’s solid, yet permeable, like a mood.

Like God, it has no face. Like lust,

It flickers on without a prick of guilt.

We move in and out of rooms, leaving

Our dust, our voices pooled on sills.

We hurry from door to door in a downpour

Of days. Old trees inch up, their trunks thick

With new rings. All that we see grows

Into the ground. And all we live blind to

Leans its deathless heft to our ears

            and sings.