December

5:15 p.m. here, behind window's chipped edge – layers of life.

quartz and driftwood on the windowsill, the last rays of a forgotten day. and beyond…lone trousers flap on a washing line, soon becoming unpegged in the gale. the afternoon eye moves further, still, toward clumps of grasses and teenage trees, scorched by aching spring heat. waiting to be spread by spurred feet of birds. by mice, by secret activities of ants, trampled into boggy ground.

by me?

to soil that waits with patience. moist and ready. only these. and on a day, i thought, lacked achievement.

seeds of life or maybe, avoidance of death? here, below the window, in vineyards to the east, on shadowed hills and dunes to the west and don't worry, there will be more. and dusky eye moves up, finds the road where cars move, race home to waiting arms and smiling faces or less than these, but still enough, or not enough after all. but ground that receives them, even so.

2 Replies to “December”

  1. oh Dan, thanks so much, really! i like photographing body parts, in some ways i find them far more beautiful than the whole. the turn of an eyelid, the curve of an eyelash, cheekbones, the angle of the neck – i especially love hands. anyhow thanks, for that, and for still being here, even though i went AWOL.

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