|© Beth Roberts|
The most lascivious landscape I've seen--
a freezing highway of storm-dissembled vehicles
lapping the space
between freeway and field.
If I put my finger on it, in part it's violent.
Northern pike sweeping up to the duck.
Sunset, firearms, calls struck
out across the water, winter.
Across seven moving bodies of water
the only thing still is a hummingbird.
Still on the tile, a partridge breast plucked,
another nude of the heart,
traffic pulse, muscle to flex . . . buzz asleep,
sleep abuzz . . . deep in the automaton chill.