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 d**hless heft to our ears and sings.