by Michael Robins

 

 

 

I miss my friends, I mean miracles

 

& pattering rests in the dazzled nest

 

 

isn’t that plain enough? Rents go up 

 

unavoidably, stealing with it a yard

 

 

which is like the carbon of nowhere 

 

you need be today. Happy endings,

 

 

coasting tire & hum until we’re free

 

& miss a good church luring old age

 

 

reasonably, convincingly, intensely

 

as a cornfield on a hot summer day. 

 

 

You swerve the car often, see dodos 

 

dragging twice their size. Breaking

 

 

for these abodes are the blue pools,

 

the clean pairing of wing & horizon.

 

 

So let us weigh then what we know

 

when the world reassembles & rises.