10:51 PM Posted by James Owens


so hard now
not to be scattered
among the shadows

and the memory of voices
a light
that calls him back
or a light
that calls him away

broken the air broken into snow
or weeping now and
hands heavy with broken

sunlight like

hands full of shards



Dianne said...

Solitary, alone with the light and the pain,

Wonderful images

Roxana said...

and i remember all of a sudden other lines, from a poet very dear to my soul:

... broken now, but not only, not ever.
And the desert crossing that night,

the third hour of mist
was our kingdom, was home,

was strange bereavement
where we woke into memory---

and i wake into beauty, into light among shadows, into the hands of the poet, full of shards, yet writing these words and this silence, against everything, writing, forever.

James Owens said...

Dianne: Thank you for coming by and for taking the time to comment. I appreciate it.

James Owens said...

Roxana: I am always amazed when you remember ... and still you always do :-) Having some place in your memory is more than I could hope for.

"forever"? Maybe --- but every time seems like the last...

Dianne said...

Thanks for stopping by

Your photos capture the essence your mind's eye sees. That's no small feat.