detail from image by Francesca Woodman
Beckoning
I put my ear
against tomorrow
listening for a sound
a beat, a sign, the wave
of drumming fingers
to a future song
and I can almost hear
to sing along
but almost says it hasn't
quite become, half-born
a foot, one hand, a hint
and who knows what
will happen when we get
to then and there
--smh
I know, I know -- still AWOL, because I've been sicker than sick all week. Brought back a nasty little souvenir of some kind from Phoenix. But I did manage this. Thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for luring me to the keyboard. Click over there now to explore a hundred more...
6 comments:
I like how you isolated the shell, made your poem reflect what shells represent.
As a conch shell lover, you complete my morning. The words you write evoke vistas yet to see, paths still to traverse and all the love still there to find.
Thanks, Susan.
The unknown is not always something to be fearful of. You made it exciting.
Lovely magpie and I hope you feel better soon, Susan!
so true...lovely opening lines...and we know not what it will look like until it is born...upon us...
Great matching of words and image.
Get well soon Susan.
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