Those lips’ butterfly pause
briefly on the skin
then flower, drink
until the ceaseless breeze
lifts the fragment.
Complex veins pulse
against the light.
Contre-jour is difficult,
still beauty shines
stronger against the rules.
Cool gusts blow,
show direction,
pull the wings
spreading before
the sun which dries
the drop so recent
and so moist,
steady for departure.
The future is a feint
brittle parchment
of once-lined maps
dried in memory of land
by ocean travellers
in chrysalis
hoping full circle
can be true.

Heart-shaped pool
Heart-shaped pool

One thought on “Departure

  1. I love this Mark. On the one hand, a sense of preparation for leaving although the destination is uncertain. Perhaps the destination is a familiar place made unfamiliar by time, at any rate it will no doubt be somewhere others have been before. On the other hand, I experience a sense of dread – as in the one departure we all have to make.

    The images are beautiful. Liminal, threshold-like. Beginnings and endings.

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