@d-pendA sketch of sentiment, by trembling hands
poured out graphitic on the tablet-sands
for winds and rain to weather, then erase—
that trembling imperfection leaves no trace.
No trace but in the aether, ever-pressed
on vellum atom-thin, dimensioned-deep
and layered infinite in cosmic test
of what will pass, and what retracèd, keep.
A sketch to cause the artist to awake:
to study all the ripples currents make,
to gaze upon the cold and thermal waves
that lap the galaxy with gentle laves.
The morning paints me indigo and lime,
my monochrome is hued by patient time.
I cannot help but gaze upon my hands,
and think of all the colorless demands
I place unfailingly upon their grid.
Bright bones in motion, manifesting quid:
geometrizing the intangible.
Decaying soul to make it fungible—
so fruits of fantasy burst from the loam,
empowering a wanderer to roam.
The sunset paints me, life through stainèd glass,
a waiting for the ultimate to pass
but close enough for me to hear its breath
and in that mome, avert the glare of death—
the morning paints me lime and indigo.
original poetry and photos by Daniel Pendergraft
created to be posted to HIVE on May 5th, 2020.
