Like King Solomon’s Mines
How many have died,
hanging in despair from your rib-cage?
Do you keep their names?
Those who fell traversing the deserts of your diaphragm
did they know it was futile?
When they trudged, seeking your rumoured heart.
Do you say a prayer when you bury them
at the edge of your lungs?
What would they say if they knew
your smile still glows wide?
Still traps those who can’t see
your teeth are gravestones.