These the insides of elbows where blood nearly surfaces
that desire a linkage of arms
These the indiscriminate hand palms in attitudes of want
where the journey of the body maps its small tracks
These the mystical thighs which hold like the arms
but remember more than the holding
These knee joints want to give
thanks each day and show support by falling
Those are the soles of the feet who
when they shouldn't
keep walking away
As you and I,
who lie now like two countries
with arbitrary boundaries of peace
fitting perfectly in our era,
have walked away
When the earth divides
or the blade rips the skin
there are moments of darkness in the world
before the body pulls itself toward itself again
Two Poems by Robert Louthan
PROVISIONS IN A WILL
1.
Not just anyone can talk, even
to himself, the way he wants.
Open my larynx when I die.
You'll find the fossil
of a word I haven't said.
2.
Fill my lungs with melted metal
to cast, in those molds,
a pair of something extinct.
