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Robert Gibb

Jan/Feb 2015

After

By Robert Gibb

Beat, heart … The earth has not swallowed everything.        —Machado i The first of the month the cactus gets watered. The jade tree every other week. The tubs Of dumb […]

Winter 1998

Raising the Blinds

By Robert Gibb

1 All day, by the window, I’ve been looking To fathom such intricacies as these: Hail, sleet, freezing rain, the heavy Welter of flakes, and the way each Complements the […]

Summer 1993

Gnats

By Robert Gibb

  All summer we had them      Boiling over in their clouds, That brief, dark dance      Of particles, mists of flesh        Which hovered       About our heads.     We had them in our ears […]

Summer 1993

Mushrooms

By Robert Gibb

1 After rain, after weather, They emerge: flesh-colored And naked as throats, Milky as the caps they’re Named for. They loll, Slouch-brimmed and sprawling Upon their stalks, Pale slips swelling […]

Summer 1993

Moths

By Robert Gibb

I like the leaf ones best, For whom the ends of transformation Are resemblance To another life entirely— The wings almost deciduous, Antennae fusty as fronds. As the one I […]