Poetry
A Sketch (from the Oblivion series)
-June 15, 2013
Revised Version: March 16, 2015
You drew for me a sketch of a moth
on a scrap piece of board. Delicate,
the details were. You copied the contours,
antennas, and hairs from a corpse. It spent
its final moments fluttering around
the finishing room light, exhausted itself
being infatuated by the lustrous shine.
That night cast thin shadows
of insect wings. Smearing from the side
of a graphite point and blurring light shadings
upon a white surface. But now these wings
stay fixed to the portrayed deceased body.
In my mind, our dreams stood like mirrors
facing one another. Had we incidentally
understood each other more than just
a brightly lit allure? Nevertheless—it was nothing
but a glowing attempt to discover something more.
As far as I remember, I still have your sketch,
a metaphoric memoir of a fallen life, which
once pollinated from a pupal night. But as the graphite
presses against the board, it brings to life an image
of a lamented misspent ardor. A fluttering lost
within mirrors of subconscious memories.