Photograph by Jef Maion
HAMMOCK
In this scrub oak hammock,
spider webs strung from trunk to trunk.
I must kneel, crawl on black muck,
not to disturb the spiders and their webs.
I crawl by the slim bodies of yellow mushrooms,
red-gray lichen, the hiss of small,
bright-colored snakes,
beetles pushing dung balls, wild orchids
sprouting from wood crumbles of a fallen tree.
I have not seen a person all day.
My face changed, became relaxed, friendly-
no longer tense as when watched by human eyes..
my clothes are stained with oozing black mud.
I'm extremely happy.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Poetry Volume One
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