Charis, Lake Ediza, California, 1937 by Edward Weston
Lips unmoving,
there's too little to say.
With feet propped on stone,
a new kind of cold.
Ice sheets below,
where silence pervades
And against this wall
a soul waits, unfazed.
Girded for war,
but heaving to be free
Why bother to blink,
with one's heart frozen shut?
Now once more, please,
and relax this time.
Then ready a fire
for the photographer's wife.
~a bit of poetry I wrote for Mag 142
