A Poem: Your Country

There are these great distances,
   in between your ribs.
   I want to kiss the furrows that dip
   along your side, open up dark, raw spaces,
   and plant my words there.
   Sow them up into you
   with the traces of my fingers.
   I want those words to grow in your chest,
   burst forth, bloom in wild, tangled
   sentences that run on and rise up
   so that your eyes turn toward me even when
there are these great distances.