FAITHFULNESS

From the trash can 

he fished a box of lemon tea.

Between day and night

his mouth attends the angled straw

that turns in each direction.

Annular rings grow from within, wheeling slowly

in the curve that carves us.

I see him smile, looking up,

the smooth white flesh swaddling his face,

deep sunk pupils

casting for us their gaze.

For us he tastes others’ flavor,

for us his smiling head upturned.

On Mars the rabbit beats its drum,

on earth the mountains listen.