Snowmachines, silhouette . . .
On the road in the North West. | buy photo |
A world without light or
sound is thinkable,
but not a world
It was simply there,
in an abandoned field.
There were roads nearby.
And a noise that made them
uneasy about lingering too long.
They had all come to study it. And
debate its form, origin,
next of kin.
There was the problem of a name.
And proper epithets. And, of course,
there was the issue of a specimen.
Should they risk transplanting it?
Or would a leaf be enough? No, they
all knew, although not one of them
dared say it out loud:—They must have
a flower. Yes: a single, whole, flower.
That is how they found them. All standing
stones frozen in a circle about a mysterious,
empty center. Outstretched hands gesturing
to the heavens,
still fully opened.
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| MYSTERY FLOWER is a part of my FIREWEED POEMS—
51 longer narrative poems | lower-right for full-screen view |
All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 2011 picture-poems.com