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.