David Levine

Iron


I.

I am not a scientist.

All these colder closures, these
sealed hallways you hid,

they are not a threat.


II.

You wanted something tangible.
You would not hold me.



III.

Any other man
would let me breathe sky.

I want wings in my head.


IV.

I have crafted this mass
out of tile and hardwood.

I am tired of your flailing paper jet.

Your world will crash into my wall.


V.

You plant yourself in a new back porch
and point out all my trees.

The birches know.


VI.

I can't see the agency in your ice.
I burrow into dirt beneath high tension wires.

I am not a scientist.

This must be the right place to hide.