The Rover

i’m a rover

i roam the sides

of the city rivers

concrete gullies

gushing water

i must not touch

i sleep beneath

the underpass

in a suit of silk

and dreams

and i walk

among the cars

queued up to alight

upon the highway with

its monstrous heights

and slow belching lows

each coin each bill

and each kind word

i collect is

currency i carry

to the 7-11

to trade for sweets

and cigarettes

i’m a rover

i cut across

the boulevards

and lanes of traffic

and into the bramble

i disappear

like winding mist

i’m a rover

plucking the string

of a yo-yo

i sing to the line

of sparrows

that descend upon

the desolate park

at sunset

sometimes a moon

sometimes a moon

hovering between blackbirds

on a telephone wire

and a group

of low-hanging clouds,

thin and layered

like craggy cliff stones,

looms so close

that it leaves

the panorama

glimpsed out the back

bedroom window

looking south

onto the alley

with its line of

mechanics’ garages,

the new orchard

planted in the vacant lot

and becomes its own scene

a solo actor

suspended in the celestial