By Laura Eklund
does not exist anymore.
The ink pen drifts into something
that once was so sweet.
His eyes lock in tight corners;
the soil loosens as
dust threatens to swallow.
He lives in blue eyes
does not appear in cultures.
Water dies from infusion.
His eyes are lovely
crushed into meters
his hands outweigh the rain.
Birds drop onto his back
before their wings escape.
Legends pass between the seasons,
wind becomes fire.
How many miles will feed the hungry stem?
He hunts for raw hide from animal fingers;
the sun falls apart onto the ground.
Something green will keep exploding
walking toward the open air.
About the poet:
Laura Eklund is an artist and poet. She lives and works in Olive Hill, KY, with the poet George Eklund, and has four children with him, Waylon, Thomas, Fiona, and Marina. Laura also paints. Her favorite things to do include reading and writing poetry and spending time with my family.
Laura’s works have appeared in many journals including ABZ, Black Warrior Review, Southern Women’s Review, Pegasus, and Slipstream. And her poetry collection, Song of Lisbon, came out recently from Wind Publications. More can be found out about Laura at www.lauraeklund.org or she can be followed on Facebook at The Art of Laura Eklund.