James H Duncan

The last tree at Golden Gate
 

where they hung
invisible men
high overlooking Alcatraz
earthen heartache
set adrift on
gold tan water skin, the genius of water
and the love of calm observation
a painted bridge on infinite repeat
once finished, again to start
and the last tree at Golden Gate
waits with one power line in sight
just to the right down
the hill
where men work the harbor ‘till dusk
stiff backs bred in Taiwan and Oklahoma
men with hats, trucks, homes
and worries unknown to the wind
that ruffles the feathers in the last tree
at Golden Gate




This poem appeared in the chapbook "Maybe a Bird Will Sing" and was inspired by the same moment in which the cover photo for this issue was taken. More at http://jameshduncan.blogspot.com
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