The Anitidot
The child of modernism and overwhelm
beckons us to seek the antidote.
Without discernible origin
not the rose, but the silhouette’s memory
not the ash, but the drawing made from ash
Evading symbolism with evolution
odd, misshapen, irregular, awkward,
bypassing the recommendation
discovering surprise
with edges both here and not here.
Rustic and worn,
affected by weather
eroded by personal history,
torn by accident and incident
rich from corrosion
trued through tarnish
rusty, rough and raw.
Diffused luminosity
regions of forest foraged earth tones
neighboring summer bleached color
time garnered in layers.
Memories of lichen on stone,
leaning grasses pressed in snow mud
meandering viridescent moss
antler velvet.
Gleaning the intrinsic
simplifying the understated
sacrificing and submerging the superfluous
ephemeral as song.
This cherishing
a trace of
a ghost of
a whisper of
The evidence of
what happened here
An anecdote of nothingness
