I grind my teeth on a coarse, black stone.
Sharp-shouldered, I crave a stranger

to cover me on cold nights like a sheath.
When you look into my body, you can see

your own reflection there. Hunter, tuck me
into your boot like a little note. Dash me

against gravel to spark fire. Drag me
along the sides of pickup trucks. Watch

as I divide pretense: anyone I look at splits into
two people. I have no someone. The woods

have no someone. I want to slide into the soft
dirt. I want to fall against the rocks and sing.

Robert Campbell