THISTLE
Sitting by a cedar
Where zebra butterflies
Pretend they are leaves
Sleep upside down,
Hang from twigs,
I saw inside a wine glass
A thistle made of moonlight.
Or was it her white gold hair?
I asked, "Would I ever find her
here
Where twilight winds
Bring jasmine odors."
No, the wine said,
All you'll ever find
Is a thistle made
From the light of the moon.
- Duane Locke
to Duane
to Moongate
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photo by Edy Lou Benjamin eyes
by John Fish
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