Portrait in Linen

Was pained and restless, agonizing over sensations I desperately wanted to describe.  Wrestled with the pen for about five minutes until I remembered a poem (and accompanying photo inspiration by Lynn Radeka) written at least three years ago.  Seems I sensed the same bare, burned, wind-blown feeling in the past.

From the prose archives….

—

Nude

Smooth tumble and roll under warm red rays, slumber in high noon, laid thin and heavy pressed on the cool brown ground. Arid song spilling from a tired throat, of a day fully spent, body bent and unfolded and so pouring untouched.

Soft sheen, glistening, like drops of dream, light and sparkling on the fragile tip of an eyelash, as a tear, relieved, resting, hanging from a black needle frond sleeping, narrow arc and curving shadows on a tan colored cheek.

Native wind breathing in from the breast of the desert, shifting like a snaking sigh, swirling airborne skirts like a shining ghost from rippling horizon mirage. Dry breeze, the whistling bones of an ancient wave, blind simplicity burying old steps and wandering circles, like a passage read and forgotten, or a river drained to the last thirsty cloud.

Canyon yawning another year as a first drawn breath, rising over valley and lee, unfurling hidden miles surrounding, unseen, and thoughtless drifts turn toward evening, slow trodding, or unmoving, as a lone nomad tracing time through unmarked sky and barebacked land. Living, a shiver brushing the center of the palm on one hand.

—

***(Photo: Lynn Radeka - “Dunes and Clouds”, 1994. Death Valley National Park, California.)

‘A’ole hiki ke poina i ka waiho’olu’u o ke kai kakahiaka, nā po’ohiwi o ka nalu ha’i, nā lima ma ke one.

Ua ki’eki’e ke kuahiwi, ua ho’oaka a’e ke kua i ka u’i, ua ka’awili ia i ke kuawa noe.

‘O ka makani ‘oni mai ke kai mai…ua hue i ke aho o ka ‘āina.

The tree withstands, contracts, expands, deflects dirt-creeping shadow hands.

Though bough-cracking season bleeds the weak to weak, and snaps off leaves of diamond green at the tender vee, storm won’t shake the beam. Moves right through light streams like drips through a fist, fog through a nest.

Black bird, dives and speeds, strikes the cage at 90 degrees.

E ke kumulā’au, ua paepae kou mau ‘ulu ikaika i nā kuahiwi.
Ua hāpai kou mau lima pa’a i nā manu uilani like ‘ole.
Ua wili a’e nā ‘āhihi i kou kua pololei.
Aloha ‘ino! Ua ulu ho’okahi ‘oe.

Expectant and waiting, anticipating a break of waves, a barreling wall, thundering in from an unfamiliar sea.

A broad-faced hour reluctant to turn, as a page of a novel, a passage of narrative printed in thoughts as minute as fine grains of sand.

If I were rushed, assaulted, engulfed, an onslaught of ropes and nails, tails lashing, glass searing and scratching, throat scathing and catching, a tangle of torn satin sails.

To be granted the mercy of screaming exhale.