A Poem by William Duke
SUMMER
Dead deer
lies in culvert.
Turkey vultures alight
feeding on decaying carcass.
Sun shines,
grass grows
high on hay field.
Soon the tractor will come,
cutting and baling the harvest.
Once more
rain falls
pouring down hard,
running in rivulets,
creating ruts on road surface.
There are
many
channels moving
in great swirling circles
washing away understanding.
Today
the heat
takes us away
beyond our language,
leaves us mercifully alone
for now.