A Poem For Daphne, No. 71

A Poem for Daphne, No. 71


I could never sing drinking songs
because I was alienated from others,
but I could sing drinking songs when alone.
Those who overheard said
they were great songs.

It was the same with dancing.
I could not dance in a crowd,
but when I danced alone,
those who peeped said my dance
was beautiful

But with her, I can praise Orvieto wine,
even if it is a white wine,
fall into sound sleep
in an alcove at Albergo Reale in Orvieto.

With her, I could waltz by a blue vase
as if we two were in Vienna
under a dazzling chandelier,
as if we were waltzing at the palace,
Schoenberg.


Duane Locke

Posted over on FZQ