Resurrection Of Time Now Dead By a Poet Who Is Going Blind #1

RESURRECTION OF TIME NOW DEAD
BY A POET WHO IS GOING BLIND, 1


On the corrugated, crumbling, peculiar
brown wood of a barkless, rottening, fallen
tree branch, darkened and damped by recent
heavy rains, thin-legged,
Tall black spiders.

The spider legs are angular,
end in acute angles,
Look as if a black oval-shaped pea
floating on stilts.

As I sit on the ground,
gazing at three spiders,
The cloth of my clothes become wet
from the moist clustered
Leaves that I sit upon.

I think of all the wheelchairs I have pushed.

I keep thinking of the all the wheelchairs
I have pushed.

At night when I look up at the stars,
I don’t see stars,
I see luminous, numinous wheelchairs.


Duane Locke

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