gravity station

it presented deep, but there was no pull.
a random, unvertiginous marker.
in lieu of a beacon, hoary barbed wire.
vandalists had no imagination.
you paused and asked me, “What kind of babies?”

a farmer’s wife walked towards us in the dust.
a tiny goat hung pressed behind her arm.
liver and tripe rocked in my cavities.
our knees bumped along with the potted road.
the highest peak in the world was a dot.

Tom