A Poem For Daphne, No. 69

A Poem for Daphne, No. 69


Anger splinters the oak, betrayals
take away the sycamore bark,
these distractions slipped out
of the brain's closed closets.
But the congregation took off
its white shirts,
to turn the pews into surging seas.
Sandpipers strolled down the church aisles.
I stepped out of the circle
with no circumference.

It is now autumn, but not an autumn
without banana tree blooms and her blonde hair.
The thin shadows of bamboo glorify the ground.

I find the sky a perfect fit to wear
as a shirt.
The leaves of a million trees quiver
in my blood.
Mysterious fungi move in harmony
their opposable thumbs.

Duane Locke

Posted over on FZQ