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, Gazing At the blue specks on a gray stone. Each speck Was a different shade of blue, Each speck Had A different shape. © 2002 by Duane Locke. All rights reserved. Home