November 30, 2007

Ars Poetica for Kevin

This dovecote pushes god
to produce the universe,

splits a grain of sand
for a cave of light

so a coyote grows
in the median.

This dovecote
an inch from the ground

balances a cornbread
among five sparrows

and makes the poltergeist sound
of their gray feet against the gray leaves.

It starts the creepy hotel light
strobing onto the lawn across,

feels a massive tractor’s reflection
move slowly across the glassed-in

skeleton of the building
at the edge of a field,

where it pushes a girl’s cold thumb
into my sleep, slips

so as to fall, demands a place
where it might be okay to be weary,

and nudges you, scarf and all,
into my hands.

—Michelle Mitchell-Foust

Posted by dwaber at November 30, 2007 03:34 PM