A poem


after Strata by Marjorie Moeser

acrylic on canvas, 26″ x 12″


You’ll notice the gold-tipped

tooth of a man as he

crosses into a shaft of sun

this side of the vale and smiles

and shines like an island,


if you’re not

lamenting the key

you left in another pocket,

the wardrobe packed in a faraway crate,

failure faces, actual cracks

and blood predispositions.


— I’m suggesting

Icarus wasn’t falling as he fell

but splashing back to birth through earth and ocean.

The scaffold of his soul so keen

it pinioned myth to wing,

hubris to the beings of renewal.