It was in black and white
Like the lament of an oak tree
Standing cold
In a field covered in snow
A crow upon its top
On a foggy day
A lonesome earring
Hanging on a deaf ear
Shivers in the wind
As the silence of the field
Wraps around the lament
Of the oak tree
Days are long
When sunshine and sunset
Are one
When the crack in the green bottle
Lets the fairy out
A drop
At a time
And in the catacombs
Where names echo in sound
There are no doors, no windows
To open upon
The black and white field
Where the oak tree hears the crow
Upon its top
And hopes
That the green fairy
Would tell a story
One drop at a time
About the bottle
That cracked
Under
Its
Own
Emptiness
December 24, 2019
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2019
PS/The day before Christmas, a dove smashed against my
window in high winds. It left a print on the glass that is amazing in detail. The rain has already effaced most of it, but
the photo I took has an eerie beauty of a flight stopped in mid-air. Gracefully.
No comments:
Post a Comment