Books by Diane Frank

Entering the Word Temple

Hiking by the Hudson River

Grief layers my body
with shields of lavender light.
I walk into the forest
to the hidden place
where the deer are nesting.

I follow the deer
to learn how leg is connected
to shoulder.
I lean towards the East
and the deer licks my spine.

I am looking for a new language,
a new way of being in the world.
I hike further to the clearing
inside a cathedral of spruce trees
where two hawks circle
in an updraft of coastal wind.

Happiness floats where the sky
meets the hawks flying.
I follow the curve of the wing
in slow circles.

I walk on stones
crossing a tiny creek with the current
stopped by a beaver dam.
Before the pool releases,
the water fills with images
from another country.

On the other side of the world,
a man with wide cheekbones.
Two deer leap over
his round face. At his ankles
flowers I cannot name,
layered with lavender.

Rain drips from the branches
as he speaks in a different language
stories of water buffalo.
His voice finds a quiet place
inside the wound.

— Diane Frank