Strangers came into the apartment walked right to the bookshelf to spill beer on your book.
Your book on a hook dangling off the roof attracted a white horse to the door.
Your book emitted physical waves into the air, drying my hair.
You climbed a tree to write your book where you wouldn't be seen. There was no tree there until you made it.
The shimmering leaves seemed to be powered by light. The tree shuffled this light onto strings. The strings hung from the air. The printers sewed your book together with them.
- by Matthew Rohrer1
I believe there is something else entirely going on but no single person can ever know it, so we fall in love. It could also be true that what we use everyday to open cans was something much nobler , that we'll never recognize. I believe the woman sleeping beside me doesn't care about what's going on outside, and her body is warm with trust which is a great beginning.
Poems by Matthew Rohrer, Matthew Rohrer's poems collection. Matthew Rohrer is a classical and famous poet (1970 / Ann Arbor, Michigan). Share all poems of Matthew Rohrer.