Resurrection of Time Now Dead by a Poet Going Blind, 13

RESURRECTION OF TIME NOW DEAD
BY A POET GOING BLIND, 13

All the desires that enslave us were brought
Into our bodies by coral-colored cargo ships
never built. The sailors were fisherman
without hook, line, or pole, no rod or reel,
who fished in the fishless dark waters
of our unconscious while
the fishermen wore blindfolds.
I once knew an Eskimo who wore in summer igloos
a Japanese blue silk kimono decorated with
orange snowflakes falling on a yellow pagoda.
Her life was free play among aporia after aporia.
We worked together to save baby seals
from the unhappy youth who roamed the ice,
chiding themselves for not building bee hives.
The Eskimo in her kimono was always happy
in the summer atmosphere with cracking ground.

Duane Locke

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