O the cryptic photograph

of a woman’s eyes,

as vast as the heavens,

as small as a pond.

I have both drowned and flown

in your embrace.

As needlessly indifferent

though you be, I trust in the exceeding vows

of time, like a penitent gardener,

that the tentative flowers of our anguish

shall blossom into fruits of the abyss,

glinting gemstones and peeling songs

recovered from the castles

of the imaginary, placed upon shelves,

and eternally recalled,

summoning smiles from the heart,

and the ghostly scent of you,

souvenir of the try,

prize of my life, again,

of tales and time.



after “Awake” by Jeremy Soule