Bird of First Arrival by Andrew Seguin

This must be the place
where the earth
experiments with trees.

High bloom, stripe, strip
of woodfat, cursive letters
from a blocky alphabet,

houseplant exploding into part
patio furniture, old man
ballasted by fruit

the wind manufactured.
The leaves are covered in
what the roads are made of, laterite.

Donkeys attempt two dimensions
along the walls. By shade
goats learn the sun

is something dealt with,
and I that a space is also the sound of the space
echoing it can’t sustain

the distance. This must be
the distance. Truck jack-knifed
by passage of an Abyssinian roller.

Some citrus cutting the sight
of foliage the color of fatigue,
the mind sourcing water

on a diet of red dust and AC.
Day’s last branches ball
the light, delete the archive.

This must be the place
where infinity learned
its trick of stopping short.
Andrew Seguin is a poet and photographer whose work often explores the intersection of language and image. He is the author of the poetry collection The Room In Which Work (Omnidawn 2017), which was inspired by the life of photographic pioneer Nicéphore Niépce, and of two chapbooks, NN, and Black Anecdote. A former Fulbright Scholar in France, Andrew lives in New York City.