Elizabeth Robinson teaches at the University of Colorado. Her most recent books are Under That Silky Roof (Burning Deck, 2006), Apostrophe (Apogee Press, 2006), Apprehend (Apogee/Fence/Saturnalia, 2003), Pure Descent (winner of the 2001 National Poetry Series; Sun & Moon, 2003), Harrow (Omnidawn, 2001), and House Made of Silver (Kelsey St. Press, 2000). With Colleen Lookingbill, she edits EtherDome Press.
Speak
Address is its own metaphysics. See: the
hereafter in which I speak, now, solely
in your voice.
United, but how shall I ever know, speaking
in a voice that I would adopt from you.
Here is a book in which the both of us
believe in god. One reads from the front
and the other from the back.
So states the divine voice: that there
is a middle. Where is it that we do
not meet?
I speak in your voice to say that what
I heard once is also what I said, that there
is a word drawn out, something less than faith,
and where, I do not know, but that a thing I
desire could extend from me. Willful religion:
that a voice could have its impact.
I carried close my small transcendent, like
a balm, but I have your voice now. The
mutual god is all immanent, the center
that dispenses with pronouns.