The Disappearance of Strangers

by Duane Locke
Down below,
Partially concealed
By oak leaves and oak leaf shadows,
Four men
Played cards
On a barrel,
Their clothes covered with fine grains of red dust.

The sky darkened, rain, a pale green curtain
Took away the below.

I sat, dry,
No longer gazing at vague strangers in a vague distance.

But gazing at
The near-by, the close,
At the blue specks on a gray stone.

Each speck
Was a different shade of blue,
Each speck
A different shape.

 2002 by Duane Locke. All rights reserved.