JOE HALL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

POEM TO C

 

bridge of doves

steel

singing
bridge, burning, this is

night, I know, you are the gold

I know, the waxing of his

heavy ship and more—a city wrapped
its balconies

overpasses and satellites, with the care

of a present that breathes, that is built in a
red corroding fog, a desert of bleached pollen

resting with Isaac’s glove, Mabel’s scarf

the daylight spring to be staggered
—call worry

all future our toy horse, in the sink

little boat that is a fortress
that is a harp, severing edge

I am with you, I am with you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



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