AN OWL BY HILLSBOROUGH RIVER
In a cypress by the Hillsborough River an owl,
The owl’s eyes are closed.
The owl is misplaced,
His cypress one of the few in the city
That has not been sawed into cypress fences.
All day long the owl keeps its eyes closed,
At evening, the owl senses a distant forest.
Keeping his eyes closed the owl
Flies over the city as its street lights go on.
The owl flies far away to a rare place
Where the trees have not been cut down..
When the owl lands on a tall pine branch,
The owl opens its golden eyes.
Duane Locke lives hermetically by an ancient oak, an underground stream, and an osprey’s nest in rural Lakeland, Florida. He has as of January 2010 had 6,513 different poems published as well as twenty one books of poetry. Duane has a Ph. D, specializing in English Metaphysical Poetry (Donne to Marvel). His interests include philosophy (PostModern, Maurice Merleau-Ponty and Martin Heidegger), insects, butterflies, birds, opera, Mahler, and Viennese music.