gently, they led him
back to the place of his birth.
his lips smacked dry and he squinted at the brilliance
in the sun and the ground, and the glass,
sparkling chipped in the sandy loam.

his reactions were so different
than hers would have been
that his jellied posture held a fascination for her.
she could never understand why he didn't become
more than momentarily indignant

when she told him he had no spine.
instead he curled more conspicuously
and made conversational allusions
to scoliosis of the brain.
she found his keeling kneeling repulsive.

the dust was full of broken glass, and it enthralled him.
"they musta levelled this place ten years ago
look at the rot, look how unused--
the lake used to be here. before i was born
she used to swim."

what made it hard for her was this:
she knew she would have crumpled sooner
but with more dignity; she would have been aware
of her own crumpling
and somehow, he was not aware of his.

he was absorbed, entangled,
with some acutely felt emotion he couldn't name.
the lot was vacant, dry and fruitless.
when he found he hadn't any memories of it at all,
he knelt.