Picture by and copywrite Rosa Frei.
Sucking at the grains,
the eyes, weather-beaten portals
portray, in absolution,
the sifting sands in hourglass
like B-52 roar, the revelation
of dry ocean repetition,
the ships always setting sail never
finding anything but mirage—
blistered empty wounds
singing long after they have sung,
these eyes, these hands left
to cover blood and beauty.
* My submission to this week’s edition of the One Shoot Sunday Photo Prompt, with this moving bit of portraiture care of Rosa Frei. Check out my interview with her, and join in the poetry fun!
By Iquanyin Moon, for One Shoot Sunday.
I cannot see you anymore.
It ends in solitude,
The salient serration of your survival
Severed all trace of tactile touch—
I reached for you and you recoiled till
Whispers on the lovers’ trail
Turned it all to desert and to dust—
You went alone into the waste.
You are naked to me,
Wind-blown wraith wreathed in
Dust—blow, ye wind blow, for you
Are nothing, breaths and breathing
Touch upon the earth and fade away—
Just footsteps sifting in the sand
Time covers all.
*This poem is a response to the latest of One Stop Poetry’s Sunday Picture Prompt challenges. This week’s featured picture was provided by i-Phoneographer Iquanyin Moon, who I interviewed for this week’s One Shoot Sunday. Check out her wonderful work, her insights, and some great poetry…