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