“Diaspores”
A broken clothesline leans
against its shadow
nothing to hang memories
on
through the stillness of the desert landscape
I meander
fragrance of creosote bush
underfoot
dry winds blow
clockwise
shifting transverse
ridges of sand
In the distance a prickly pear cactus
tempts the coyote
despite needles
the coyote consumes its fruit
spreading seeds
every thing
transient
even the shadows
“Portrait at the Border”
a wanderer
hears the gentle pitch of water
ringing
between two rocks
at the source
she cups her hands
a steady stream
of cool liquid
washes
over parched lips
memories flow
like seagrass
bending
with thirst neurons
quieted
the northern sun setting
she tramples
through puddles
down the mountain
leaving muddy footprints
in her wake
a clearing at the bottom
orange sky
illuminates
a still water pool
quenched and satisfied
she gives pause
stares
at her reflection
feels purpose
an acceptance
of being
a new starting point
near the end
of her long journey
“The Seedling”
As the glow
of autumn
retreats
winter begins
its unforgiving
trek
like a bare tree
on skeletal
ground
I find you
on a subway platform
leaning
against steel beams
black scarf
wrapped tightly
โround
bowed head
like in prayer
reading the last
revision
of my prose
delicate fingers
touch the page
where I mimic
natureโs process
a seedling germinates
pulling energy
from light above ground
while digging
deeper
for sustenance
below the surface
worn leather boots
tapping
in rhythm
where so many others
have stood
waiting
with eyes beaming
like headlights
you slide the shawl
from your head
finish the last page
as an eastbound L-train
rumbles
through a long
dark tunnel
and for the first time
since handing me Hemingwayโs
Garden of Eden
you turn
to look at me
and I understand
when thaw
begins
banks overflow
youโll wait
with bucket
and shovel
for the renewal
of spring
preparing a way
for the smallest
revelations
of my truth
Paul Rabinowitz is a writer, photographer and founder of ARTS By The People. To know more, visit him at www.paulrabinowitz.com.
