Menu

Poetry

Your eyes are a brocade of finches,
feathered bronze and gold-flecked

shards of stained glass, afloat
in pails of morning’s milk.

Your pupils are black as onyx,
as distant stars moments beyond collapse.

I enter through them to find,
in a barn lit through rafters,

the Son of Man
with mud dripping from his hands.

Oh, my God
                      —he looks like you.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

shot of the floor of a hospital hallway streaked with light.

Peace Like a River

By

Robert A. Fink

Image of two dark green chairs in shadows on opposite sides of a window that is casting golden light throw yellow shutters.

Twins

By

Philip Terman

The Cartographer of Disaster

By

Kathleen L. Housley

multiple frames of the same windows up at the top of the ceiling. The room is dim and the windows let in blue from the trees and golden light.

At the Synagogue Rummage Sale

By

Philip Terman

Pin It on Pinterest