Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Canyon


THE CANYON

I recall the canyon's orange,
Hear the silence speak.
It is speaking about blonde hair
Spread out on stone.
I know I belong
in that stone garden
cultivated by weather,
where hips are shaped by the wind,
breasts shaped by the rains.

Now away from the canyon,
I have an address,
but I don't know where I live.
I am somewhere inside a fence;
everything seems far away.
My street a graveyard
that the dead have deserted.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Poetry Magazine

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