a breaking of a tooth
a crackle crunch of pain
and a perfect dapple
of a dying drying oak
coming together
in the eyes and ears of a storm

that's the place to find all your days
to remember all your sinewy sins
to let the honey-heavy heat of shame
wash you clean
down to your yellowed toes

that's the place to cry
and to listen and to lie

your red rosy fingers blurring your face
and your ordinary eyes
just a common brown

they could always see
so well