“Strange” by Joseph Roque


Strange,
how each day on waking
as I gather courage for facing
the fiery jaws of Moloch,
thoughts, as if the last afforded
serene sedate me, bring me back
to the oak tree with the branches
bent and strangled...

the smiling morning dew
beneath it mingling with the
scorching beads of sweat
that flowed, from our bodies
bare and tangled.