more stories

and then.

First, a distant hint.
Of off-yellow. And round.
Wasn’t put there on purpose,
I don’t think.
Moving images. Of sorts.
– – –
Then it’s a flower.
Saturated as a bud can be.
Adorning the lush undergrowth.
Deep as black.
– – –
Then it’s an eye.
Embarrassingly inquisitive.
A single sustained sound.
A shriek.
A blueish sigh of frustration.
Leaves underfoot shuffling,
wet once, now fragile.
– – –
And then an ostrich—the neck.
Dirt brown and stretched long.
As suggested
against the faded green.
– – –
And then nothing.
It was out of the frame.
A loop, perhaps.


Enthusiastic photographer. Loves stories too.