Immigrants
by Adam Francis Cornford
Who airward lean straight, who bonetune cluster anywhere
who always infringing, who grey scrawl peel to ghost-rose
who spread and flaunt seethe tents above tatters
who remember motion and moon, tide-wide arriving
who fed koala, dark-lanterned with crows in the dry stars
who knew sand, who muttered pattern-crack creeks until they ran
who writhe skin characters downstroked in rain joy
who revel pale-jade cricket shade among these thicker greens
who winter rattle shards half off at crystal angles
who sun-scatter over us, who million-talon light into seafloor
who afternoon arcades name ocean as wish
who airswimmers gather summer oils, who flare in Santa Anas
who like other raggedy comers brought for crops assessed useless
who cross equator fireweed tree, who named invader
who infill and prosper, teach here hills a near-aspen speech
who blood-orange stumps gape along the truck ruts
who lopped, who backhoed up, who trunks chaindragged in stacks
who shreds and twigs roadway litter like refugee trails
who buttons dropped wait wheel-driven under mud
who sapling asylum inside live-oak maze, on maple steeps
who unerase, who flayed under crescent crowns keep rise.