Hugh Steinberg Poems

I want to be
intricate inside
you I want to open
...

The beds, the bedding
and the need of rest.
The ground was tough, knotty
...

in pockets, is nothing in
itself, that asphalt, those letters,
says I remember, it swept through
...

The land is mowed of its names, feel bravery towards unusual things.
A risk for me. Risks are good. Symptoms flare. Get to arch
into your own body deep in its exile. Oh sparrow you say,
...

A nice shirt, drying on the line, describing shadows, cracks; earwigs
curl in the folds. We are dubious the poor will get one flannel waistcoat.
Or birds that hunt from the ground, flying up to capture prey a kind of nostalgia.
...