libation

Ioffer to this ground, this gin.

Iimagine an old man crying here,

outof the sight of the overseer.

Hepushes his tongue through a hole

wherehis tooth would be, if he were whole.

It aches in that space where his tooth wouldbe,

where his land would be,

his house, his wife, his son,

his beautiful daughter.

Hewipes sorrow from his face,

andputs his thirsty finger to his thirsty tongue,

and tastes the salt.

Icall a name that could be his,

thisis for you, old man.

Thisgin,

this salty earth.