Steven Schroeder | absences
Noah, suspended
on a wave he could understand
as nothing but god’s anger
clung to his family, dreamed
he was good, thought the flood
a mirror sent by god
to confirm it, planned a world
to look like him when the dove
returned with a token
of a tree, head above water. Not
a word of death, though the air
must have been full of it, nothing
but a rainbow sign.
Tight-lipped
Noah digs mass graves for absences
that haunt the world, keeps an eye
on water.
from the imperfection of the eye. virtual artists collective | 2007
