Photograph by Duane Locke
her devotion to the past
The South wind wore
An oleander dress.
The bare arms of the wind
Were sweet.
The green dress splashed
Among herons.
The wind's body stayed
By oyster shells on shore.
The wind's body said to the sky,
"I won't tell him that I'm dead."
Duane Locke
Posted over on Dead Drunk Dublin
No comments:
Post a Comment