It was her favourite time, when
he would slip into view on the
horizon. Who is he, she wondered,
what is his name
She gazed for days upon his malaise,
Insouciant fate made the man hers alone,
serendipity smiled at the irony
He bore a pale, shimmering pall about
him, a ghostly glow.
She lit up at his very presence, or was
it the other way around
He swayed peacefully with the evening
breeze, beneath the sturdy oak, while
reflecting in the pond before him.
What thoughts had he,
why did he look so sombre;
she always had too many questions.
His clothes were in tatters, falling
away; indeed, his shoes had already
kissed the earth. Unkempt hair framed
his haunted face, as subtle clouds
of dust were whisked from his shoulders.
She knew her obsession couldn’t go on,
eventually he’d be gone; a heap of
broken bones and mysteries, then nothing.
Day by day he will fade away, from mortal
memory. She consoles herself knowing
that there will be others; there have
been many, the world over. Destined by
isolation and hopelessness, marked by
surrender and periligature
She recalls them all, across land and
millennia, but soon again she’ll be
ushered off by Sol’s approach.
No matter, time beckons a gloaming
elsewhere, and time is impatient.
It’s always the same, ruthless and
precise, efficient and unforgiving.
Yet she would return…
It was Sol’s favourite time, when
the man would slip into view
on the horizon.
Insouciant fate made the man his alone
Though his fiery stare hastened the
man’s decay, he’d gaze for days, wonder
art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński