The Ground

I love the ground whereon he stands
The ground beneath those shoes that
Walk. Walk him along to work, party,
To beds and beds and beds.

I love the ground whereon he stands.
His love is hard just like it, buoys up
Heads and shoulders, hips, hips,
Thighs and shins just like it.

I love the ground whereon he stands
Each pavement crack a fingerprint whorl
The mark of something past, something
Painful, man-making and man-made.

I love the ground whereon he stands
And his shadow whose belly hovers
Along it with promise of some great
Union between ground and him-

Written by nature and far off down
Past years of cigarette butts and
walking in those shoes to the beat of a
hot heart. I love the ground whereon he

Stands, because silently
It touches him, and me.
Because it owns us both.
Because in those measured
Squares named and unnamed
It is his.