flute

flute

when bamboo sings clouds
cast giants
against rimrock water
curves stone
into deep
bowls trees
rock
like bodies exhausted
in love or a child falling in
to his first
dream
when bamboo sings
white
moth flickers
in mimosa
smoke from fields of cut
grass domes
the sky corn
dried in sun blossoms red
wine on tongue
when bamboo
sings
two horses lean their great
heads across a road-
side fence mosquitoes
hum against skin seeking
the moon’s blood

when bamboo sings the dead
walk through dreams nudge
us awake

– first published in Fireweed

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One comment on “flute

  1. j.h. white says:

    “When faced with a choice between sound or meaning, choose sound.” I’m listening and hearing both. Thanks Frank 🙂

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