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!