Rosettas
Nothing is left of love
but soft slopes of sand –-
sea shard curves
of ancient offered flesh..
We hold life’s
brief possessions
in brindled hands—
cheeks ripe roseate
above painted
porcelain lips.
Faded farm women
gaze on roseolas of prairie—
sepia skims
of faith’s watermarks
held up to light
and frenzied time
amid salmon stains—
papered moth wing eyelids
flickering madly
under thin Rosetta stones
of sun.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2006
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment