"Great Spangled Fritillary"
Y. Misdaq

Board the black wave of certitude.
Search through its dying flying embers,
thrust your hands in its liquid, digging and digging.
The black oil that you float on.
Barely conscious. So in tune.
Close them.

Hear the disruptions in the wind,
that help you see with them closed.
Help you picture form, movements.

In line. Everything is before the black eyes.

Your still body is a statue of golden blood.
The wind collapses on your torso,
Dispersing in submission to you, now.
And your slow arm raising to point forwards is a rock.

By Y. Misdaq
© 2005 Y. Misdaq & Nefisa.co.uk All rights reserved.