somewhere
in the fist of the earth
enstrata, folded warmly

is that person who
spoke into clenched ears
acted against deserted rows

their legacy may be grasped
a scrap of fabric hooked
and torn away

a few shorn word, no longer
contexted, slipping under:
sublime

I open my mouth, felsic,
fecund with their antiquations,
belly-deep, spewn

somewhere
in the fist of my gut
is the was