River

River


The tom-tom river
Puts its green-veined,
Drum-beating hands
Into its backpockets,
Sends up threads of solitude
To start in the sky over us a tapestry.
The thread is red,
Given by a sunken tree
Who unbuttoned her bark
To let the bark flow away
To rooms of salt.
The next thread is silver,
Given by the scales of a silver-eyed fish.
Soon the sky above us
Will be a silver and red tapestry
Of solitude,
Teach us a new language.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Terrain

Duane Locke is Professor Emeritus of the Humanities and poet in residence at the University of Tampa. He has had poetry published in print and online journals including American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander. His latest book is Watching Wisteria (Vida Press).