from each of the bodies
—from an NPR hourly news report, March 2008
The one bruised
by hammer and rock
knew also the coolness of stone
rolled in the pocket, traced a name in dust,
hollow of a lover’s throat.
Steered lever, joystick, shovel, wheel, bullet and blade,
was part of a hand that wanted to strike
and did, a time or two.
In the great cities
hailed the cab. Pointed, This way.
Held aloft, sought the wind’s direction.