And then it was gone, the night
I mean, replaced by something,
I think it was day, or what could
pass for day if you took light,
the inexplicable songs of crows, the hum
of Ford Falcons heading for work
and decided you may as well
leave your bed for something
new, something that could pass
for morning, as if you had anything
else, something pressing, it can't wait, to do.
Recent work by Bruce Robinson appears or is forthcoming in Seventh Quarry, Pangyrus, Résonance, The Menteur, Main Street Rag, Connecticut River Review, Maintenant, Evening Street Review, and greatweatherforMEDIA.