By What Means

Sailing in potions.  The aftermath transformed from apparition into gold.  Navigating in the middle of above and below, breath and fire.

How to make a path through the shoreless sea.  How to find what was left behind on its phantom boundaries.

Coiled and enclosed by emotions that have no name.  Entangled in a web of circumstance.

To be alive is always a risk.

Who acknowledges your vulnerabilites?  What are the objects of your devotion?  When will your unknowable secrets be revealed?  Where is the entrance to the far side of the darkest extremity?

Why? and why not?

We too are ensnared, following your edges into a maze of decay.  We are unable to meet your gaze until it’s too late.  We always search for you beyond the point of no return.

All those ghoststones, weighed down by too many betrayals.  The intersection of desire and fear that paralyzes completion.  The piercing shards of the broken mirror.

The spiral grows tighter, less controlled.  The waves isolate and discard.  The horizon is lost, the voices drowned in a desperate merging of man and beast.  Which one remains after the inevitable inferno?

The distance between was always an illusion.

Last month Visual Verse had a very intriguing image, with a serpent like creature, as its ekphrastic prompt. Even before I wrote a response, I wanted to do a visual response as well. You can see the original image and the published responses here.

My prose poem wasn’t chosen for publication, but I finally made my collage and revised the text a bit for Tricia Sankey’s dVerse prompt exploring risk.