she did the tasks every day
the cleaning of ash from the hearth
the sweeping of leaves in the parlor
the clearing of vines from the walls
the sorting of shells that the sea had swept in
the freeing of moths from the bedroom
slowly the house began to return to its former state
a pale gray villa carved with roses
pink marble floors
pale blue ceilings starred with crystals
murals of cherubs and clouds
bed fit for a prince
wardrobe of shoes made of glass
all of this, it does not save her
eventually everything
will still become ash
absolutely marvelous. i love the way this was conceptualized.
ReplyDeletethis comment refers to the first photo
ReplyDeleteDirt
ReplyDeleteBeneath, dirt
and in the air, in the water,
dirt.
We're mud, wet moving ash,
temporary bone.
Time will crawl circles around us
with our closed eyes
so let's build into the air
clatter up the stairs
in our fleshed skeletons
fashion words from ancient trees
and rasp through lips while we can
before the leaves crisp, and crumble.
The sun will still beat us
tear out every color until only bleach remains
leach supple skin, brittle
yet that seed, poke a hole
tend tenderly, moisten, wait,
wait, wait until green snaps sun
into waiting veins
as though flowing sap, or blood
means anything in itself.
It doesn't
matter, only
love comes
from dirt
Hey! Check out these awesome sci-fi paintings from the Soviet Union :
ReplyDeletehttp://www.darkroastedblend.com/2007/11/retro-future-to-stars.html
Beautiful art nouveau for a beautiful poet!
ReplyDeletehttp://www.darkroastedblend.com/2011/10/treasures-of-art-nouveau-part-1.html
Love,
An old, forgotten friend, who delights in your delight ...