Bill Robinson
he used to shuffle in
his possessions
under arm
sacked in rumpled paper
cave fire in his eyes
like an old lion
he’d take stock
of the jungle
and eye an empty throne
and on the descent
he’d let out the breath
he was holding
and wherever he chose
to reign
you’d hear his deep, low growl
and whatever you said
he knew the verse
like he wrote it
wild words loved him
he could take
the balled up page
somebody trashed
and make it move
like wind on water
and you could swim
in that channel
dawn to dusk
from key to key
without tire
TL