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THE GULF’S TONGUE PHANTOMS
I send my words out over
the gulf’s green water,
“Come near, come near, come near.”
I, alone, no one is near,
so I talk to a phantom
I talk loudly, louder than the waves’ roar.
I have talked to phantoms before,
Phantoms with red, brown, or white-gold hair,
But when talking to these phantoms,
Someone was close, we touched.
I talked phantom talk
to these touched phantoms,
And heard phantom talk returned.
Now I stand on this shore, by a coral rock
With a pool of green algae
and pink sea anemones.
I talk to a phantom. I know no one is near.
I stand here, talking to no one
While the gulf tongue licks the thighs of sand.
Duane Locke
Posted over on SF Salvo
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