Wednesday, January 13, 2010
WHEN FOUR YEARS OLD (27)
by
Duane Locke
Once when I observing a
A dragonfly
With a red segmented body
And crimson flashes arising
From his net-webbed silver wings
Nibbling on something
While his wire-thin legs gripped
A brown stiff weed stem
That leaned at an acute angle
Towards the earth’s browned weeds.
I thought of the transparency of my language
When I spoke to myself
About the dragonfly or anything else,
And the non-transparency of my language
When I spoke to others
About the dragonfly
Or spoke about anything else.
I was slowly learning that discourse,
Communication
With another, the other,
Was only a contingent possibility.
As I grew older,
I became more and more alone.
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