Poetry | Portrait of an Unknown Man
He's still now, stone like never before,
stuck in a moment that will not replay--watching
you with precision that you could never give--
a cold figure without any name.
A different entity than even he could be,
stagnant like the ever-present sky unleaving,
pressed in the frame as a forgotten body of time,
never sculpted again by diligent hands.
Hands, not visible but assuming placement anyway,
like the feet, stomach, and soul.
Only wealthy mind and heart will assess this being,
finding a story unclaimed in thoughtful space:
a life long-lived in a town of unknown prosperity,
the presence of a man both living and dead.
Copyright © Sarah M Anderson 2000-2010
|
