IN DEFENCE OF POETRY VOICE

Like a lark    lift          into moon    light.      Like   the muzzle

of a gun    I       should have raised.       Like         skirts

over   New York vents.              Like the           joyride

in an elevator      by two                                    teens

with child.    Like child. Childlike. Like whining.       Like a flag

on a mailbox. Like a skateboard                 off a ramp.     Like a

piano    to the                            fourth       floor.      Like curtains.

Like         you           like                                    someone,

not light      but deep,    so deep       light          descends

and    when they are not in bed      you can      only       sing

to        the night,                     babe?               Like a plague

 of toilet             paper                            hung

over porches.                     Like    a   brass   ring

when            a plaster   horse                            jumps.

Like                                      salt water. Like silicone.

Like               a chapel’s                 ceiling.

Like                                                      sap seeping

from stacked                 redwood in a lumberyard.