![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg011qZJxZ4CaOapufD0Kpc7dYspNRtHdOmmeOXnd0Cesw3sTTd_Hys2fuo0qCnYo2K7BheQ4nDtk4xW3ceoB_IipmVOwcLd-xdVyek8NP-bEmK60hQ5mpgv6DNizs9sKOW5Ifn81lLVUc/s400/aa%2520hands.jpg)
Print by Phillip Moore
E MAIL TO DAMNISO LOPEZ
(SENSE)
The sense of being touched.
Comes
From the touch
Of a fingertip
That is absent,
Fingernails
Are painted a pale green.
My flesh
Says
"Inside your body
Is a phone that never rings
Because
It is not connected to a power line
Or structure."
Gazing outside,
I feel shut in,
But on the power line
Sits
A Flycatcher
With a long tail
Curled
And quivering
On the end.
- Duane Locke
Posted over on Wilderness House Literary Review
No comments:
Post a Comment