Country of Torn Men

Here, men don’t lie
or lean on their beds and pray;
they sit on stools, sing by a wall,
wonder if jagged lines glisten
when divided hearts break the law,
and miles of giant afternoons,
when the hesitation on lips
slides further into doubt
the way the desert does
when language is sealed
to keep breaths
from dividing the mirror.
Or is it the nation?