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mine are the rainbow arms
of the horizon around you
stroking you forward
to the center of the sky
out of the desert
the arctics the seas
the beds of anything
you are on
mine are the arms
the ends
of all the earth you need
I am for you.
Copyright © 2023 by Ed Roberson. Used with permission of the author. All rights reserved.
it’s the listener determine what it is
be singing that come on ain no siren
in that song ‘cept going off in the hearing
if you can’t sing how you know a song
from anything else what you think
be callin’ you but song —
as far as I am able to see all
the ways it works all
they were doing was eating
the evening meal—
whether hunger made it that particular
pass-out gravitational pull up turning
as I see it exciting
or pressurized as simply necessary
to eat to live I’m not in on that swing
of evolution that these birds are
to know I can only admire
the shit-your-pants come round about curves
they swallow with a grace such as
I take in
*
Once the magnolia blossoms,
the descending shadow of the petals
stains the street
with the brown footprint leaving,
where it has stepped in itself,
a track
walked in its own being flesh
gone as to excrement —
spring, in tomorrow’s rain, comes
a hose-down of the scene as
of an annual
murder,
the fallen petal
of a sparrow
no one had kept an eye on except
the peregrine
from the Methodist church tower.