CONFESSION
I cultivate gladioli so I can
Speak to dirt. I have dug
Ten inches to find an ear.
I speak to what cannot hear.
In vain I confess what I could
Not tell you, or tell myself
As I press this sensuous bulb
Down in the damp earth.
It is the lascivious touch
Of ground around my knuckles
That keeps me talking.
The dirt is warm, feels like skin,
I know the dirt is not listening,
So I can reveal my secret thoughts.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Lynx
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