It's Still Life

And It Comes

the day opened like a flower,
the air warped
and hot
and unfinished.

the woman remembered it
as two hemispheres –
the beating heart of day,
and a wild fermenting moon.

and she went blinded into its creation,
a brailled path,
feeling her way,
close as foggy sleep.

and when that rooted knob
released her spine,
she cupped a child in her hands,

and they were alone,
except for a scattering of stars
and the silken bleat of goats.

81-words. #9 (draft) of The Goatherd. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.