TWO POEMSby Duane Locke |
AN EVENING IN LJUBLANA, YUGOSLAVIA
Across the street the sky has red hair
And
combs a Siamese cat
A friendly voice is telling about
Clocks wild
flowers woodpiles cathedrals
A stout woman loads a pitchfork of silence on a
cart
A girl in blue hoes the rows of quietness
Chickens not confined by commerce to
cages
Peck the rain from a pile of hay
Old wooden barns arise out of radiant
fields
The light becomes a flock of sheep
The moon is covered by hop vines
And
brightened by Sljivovica
Some houses run towards me
Leap into my
bones
SWISS ALPS
I have levitated through
The long tunnels of
night
The darkness had mouths that were forgotten
Lips with dragonfly wing
shadows and large eyes
The only strangers the moon stars and
headlights
I ended on an island submerged under dark
waters
Wet dark hands touched my cheeks
My old words flickered and went
out
Their light gone, the clothes of old astronomers
And their charts
disappeared.
The gloves that were my hands became flesh.
I
touched the infinite warm whiteness of the dark
I now feel at home walking alone in this high
cold place
And combs a Siamese cat
Clocks wild flowers woodpiles cathedrals
A girl in blue hoes the rows of quietness
Peck the rain from a pile of hay
The light becomes a flock of sheep
And brightened by Sljivovica
Leap into my bones
The long tunnels of night
The darkness had mouths that were forgotten
Lips with dragonfly wing shadows and large eyes
Wet dark hands touched my cheeks
My old words flickered and went out
Their light gone, the clothes of old astronomers
And their charts disappeared.
I touched the infinite warm whiteness of the dark