3 1/2″ x 5″ hard ground etching on
Arches cover with black Daniel Smith ink.
Wheat fields bend in a Mediterranean Summer.
Olive back burnt black
under the weight of a scythe.
I do not know who I am-
a lizard on a fence post licking its tongue,
waiting for a caterpillar
to weave a chrysalis around its heart,
waiting for its heart to break open,
to split apart and spit out
My head is hollow,
an empty seed pod waiting
for the quiet of a fog bank
to cool the Mediterranean sun,
waiting for the rattle parting the grasses
waiting for the smell of moisture
on the yellow stalks of wheat.
The sere, burnt afternoon
has almost wiped away the memory
The red sun puddles in the still air.
It is time to move. It is time to move.
It is time