Hole

You are the ground—
solid beneath my feet as I stand
and face the sun of the day.

But you quiver—
a serpent stretching out of its skin
and you shift

beneath me, anxious as the rumble
teases up through you as bubbles—
escaping through the gaps

that form as fissures in your skin.
You can’t hold it. Can’t hold me.
You crack and fold and break and slip

as you desperately try not to swallow
me whole.

JKolasch