DUANE LOCKE
'ALONE'

In a twilight oak hammock, alone,
I see the black caps of chickadees
Circling above in crisscrossed leaves.
Beneath my feet, the black earth oozes
With dark-silver water, sprouts pink mushrooms.
A laurel oak arm propped on the ground,
Her elbows sunk slightly in mud.
She wrinkles with her slender oak fingers
The smoothness of her red lichened dress.
I'm no longer alone.