Her Caress

Her Caress


Her caress
Was tossed
As if a baseball thrown
By an armless pitcher.

Her glance towards me

Was like a unplayed mandolin
On legs of a harlequin
In white silk pants,
Or like a crowed street corner
With a broken traffic light.

I try to find my lost fingers
And my lost blue colored sleeve.
The buttons were mother-of-pearl.
The air in front of me
Holds my car key,
But I have no car.

The air in front of me
Holds
A sack of useless paper money
That was my inheritance.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Arabesques