In These Woods Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Your body a brown misfit with silver
Haunts; it jaunts across these borders, bones moving
Beneath the jeans in the luscious traffics
A few but many see-
The eyes the quacks like the breakfast of over easy
Eggs for wolves:
The tongue that pants and lollygags, and then strips
Naked in these woods,
And says the few things to you lying down that
It could:
The few but many things, as you pant, that you can understand.