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Posts Tagged ‘sand’

 
When she opened the door,
she could not have known
how the winds would enter, too,
how soon the sands of loss
would blow across the hearth
until drifts filled every corner,
rising in every room,
rising until she knew
the door would never close again.
All she had wanted
was to let in the light.
She could not have known
how the sands of loss
would bury the shovel,
bury the broom,
bury even her will to believe
she could ever again
lock out the world.
How gently now they hold her,
these silken dunes she once
tried to exclude.
She curls into their drifts like a nest.
So easily now the moon enters
spilling shine across the sand.
No longer needing to knock,
it offers her all the light it has.


This poem was inspired by a work of art by fine art photographer Marisa S. White, “Drift into the Unknown.” BY THE WAY!!! (I wasn’t going to tell you about this yet, but what the heck!) … this image is also the cover art for my new poetry album (!!!) Dark Praise, 14 poems of “endarkenment” with amazing guitarist Steve Law. More on that soon. This image will be paired with another poem for the album, but when Marisa asked me to write a poem specifically for this image, how could I refuse!? It haunts me, this image–in the best way. 

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And again the world tumbles me

and again I emerge smoother, softer,

less sharp, less whole. Someday I will be

less solid, less myself, more a part of everything,

more a grain of sand that knows itself as one of many, easily

moved by the current, until finally, I

am less sand, more sea.

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Things Change Haiku

 

but it was written

in stone, said the woman

to the sand 

 

 

 

  

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