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| Photo by The Fox and The Raven |
Dissolution
We
sit together in a dark solemnity.
The
low rebuking wind is back,
its
March sweep over sere grasses
lost
to the tincture of rain.
We
are moving the chess pieces
of
argument, my Queen
felling
your King. We are once more
airing
the laundry we had agreed
to
let time and the sun consume.
This
is a tunnel where standing water
spawns
the algae of blame.
This
is where the gargoyle-embellished
mirrors
are hung
where
I turn and look at my own face,
to
see one eye hanging by a thread,
underwhelmed
by what it discerns
again
and again.
Across these pallid, frigid hours
you
recede from me,
withering,
folding
like
a spent poker hand
into
the labyrinth of night,
your heart on lockdown, casino
for the irretrievable.
As
before
the
dogs watch us, taking note
of
the inflection of anger;
no
one wins the game,
exulting in her pile of chips.
We
have merely fed
the
banked fire of dissolution
waiting
in the doorway’s seam.
copyright Jenne' R. Andrews March 2013
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3 comments:
Your work always floors me--Such a beautifully vivid write--
As always, I find such distinctive images: "algae of blame", "doorway's seam"; and that incredibly visceral "one eye hanging by a thread". A unique take on the image; I particularly like the opening of stanza 2 and how you play out that game through the other stanzas. Your poems always stand out!
Starting with "low rebuking wind" I'm pulled down with you into your poem's vivid world, and as always, I am uplifted, yes even in dissolution.
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