Al Fresco Cafe Poems #159
When the skin is scrutinized close-up,
It can be known the skin is watermarked,
The vague, almost invisible design is a
Comma, a cinema, and a cross.
But its visibility is concealed by a wrist watch.
The watermark has a memory
And wets the numbers
And wets the tick-tocks or silence.
This moisture that oozes up from the design
Changes skin to cloth,
The cloth is cut and stitched into a uniform.
So lovers hold each other’s uniform
As they stroll through arboretums.
All alternatives are crushed by altars.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Zafusy
No comments:
Post a Comment