The poem is a reversible jacket
The sea flows backwards
Extravagant gestures end in the yellow of fennel
Wispy white clouds in a high bowl of infinite blue
Totemic prayer flags of our garden: wolf, raccoon, owl, mountain lion, frog,
      turtle, beaver, rabbit, snake
Hum of city streets
Leaves paint themselves onto the eyes

I would write a dream but am wide awake
The text slips aside in the breeze
The author is a machine
Jet noise a prolonged opening
One thing leaks to another
Before coming to light on a wire fence

A N N E X    P R E S S     2 0 1 5

KIT ROBINSON         THE POEM IS A REVERSIBLE JACKET