no nuance can account

I like your little lies,
ones about foreign
efforts, collecting
flies, stilling face.
Your big lies too.
They amount to
less than insidiousness
and more than
futility.
My guess is that
you guess your
way beyond any
inanity, at least
in your way
in your mind.
I am as much with
you as the dirt is,
which isn't saying
much — the dirt's
bounty is as capricious
as its years gone dry,
dead. But that doesn't
mean I am not with
you. Just be serious here.
You and dirt have
something in common
too. It gathers in the
creases of your face,
a tenacity, a responsiveness.
Perhaps you see it
with me, perhaps
something more
desperate, less
determined. I just don't
know. No nuance
can account for the
squirm and tick
beneath our
breathings —
more of the dirt
and flies, perhaps,
than we, we who rely
on them more than anything.

— Jefferson Hansen