In that land we peer into every hollow
And tumble in every pit. A fall is just a meeting,
Sliding into grass and taking its colour.
We are contented with twilight, the bright squares on the lawn,
The crickets and the wish on what may be a planet.
In that land we can gaze across the river for hours.
That land erodes beneath the righteous splash
From above, the churning of soap on the knees.
Its language drowns and warps amid the chorus
Tolling out the proper uses of bread.