Lines in the Concrete
I graze my tongue among the cracks like braille. A new sun
springs past the window, pitching shadow bars across the floor. Cards?
the guards sometimes ask, their eyes hungry for escape.
No. Today the ants have moved the dirt
right here and it is changing, yes. Who understands the life that breaks
beneath their feet? For twenty years I sit, I watch, I focus
my breath, training my mind to the ground, the light running by
in rectangles. The pavement wrinkles like water over time,
insects forming their lives to its ruptures, dust and grime and ashes
shifting, concealing. My beard grows to my belly
but still I have no roots. He’s got the screams
again. Shut him up.