for robin

they will say
she was river-bound
made of clay
pure as her past would allow

forgetting she cooked and carried
the sins of men on her
already broken back

Artwork by Escha van den Bogerd

forgetting she carried her
own pen to mark their faces
for more sisterly loves

such as found in oceans
even in kansas
even where the odds
say no she knows

(not to forget)

knows that later will be
a softer surprise than
the clouds could show

and that if it snows
on a cigarette
the liquor too
will dim

she knows him
by so many names
she must keep a book
hidden behind the barn

and later on
after he has trespassed
upon her last
midnight

she will read his name
aloud;

the weight full upon
her darkened lips
like two matchsticks
striking up

an old conversation
(nearly forgotten)

and so
with nothing left to cry for
he will die of nothing so much
as himself

they will say he was
river-bound and made
of clay

but it will not
be that way

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