Cure this crevasse
cure it with wolf-shadows, a hole
carved into ‘home.’ I sleep
stomach to stomach.
A bed of fiddleheads.
This is what I listen to when I’m homesick:
Only four more ekphrastics until I begin a new poetic cycle. If there’s any art (film, short story, documentary, anime, graphic novel, whatever) you’d like me to poetically react to before the end, let me know. I’ll seek it out and write something.
Previous ekphrastic: Ekphrastic 20/Wonders of the Invisible World
What the hel is ekphrasis + Ekphrastic Poetry Archive (For poems about A Game of Thrones, Fudoki, The Hunger Games, Blood Meridian, etc–basically, just the stuff to fulfill your brain’s literary sugar-cravings.)