Anthem

I had yet imagined a stream fed in feather.
Ash, mostly. Mostly science, mostly grams,

the body, the flight over a towering steep.
The scream, the bridge as bride maybe. Mostly

tentative, more than or less, statistically spoken.
Then the deer on the island, mostly imported.

Then a first bird against our window, mostly
mother's hands & knees, almost a magician.

Imagine the brow with sweat, not a grimace
mostly grief, mostly song. Wrapped in cloth,

the weight in a palm perhaps, broken, calm
around the anthem. Mostly the deer adapted.

Once, mostly dumb in the nest, I'd imagine
worms, woods, a door behind the perch.

Mostly suture, persistence, then mostly dirge
as it fitfully blows, half conceals. Then the deer

fed mostly on the birds, mostly the young.
I had yet imagined the rain, the heavy clouds.

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Copyright © 2011 Michael Robins All rights reserved
from Conduit
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