My fountain is dry, lost in the confines
of the empty hallways of my soul. Death
surrounds me: an old carpet, fading like
the green in a dead patch of grass. Ceiling,
walls, mantelpiece, chairs, all are covered
in dying moss.
Help me find my water, my precious muse.
Pull some life from with your magic thread,
the singing birds of light, of love, of peace.
Guide them through the window to the outside
world, the breeze moving the curtains out
of their way. Let them see your earthy skin touched
only by the green of your spring-leaf gown, and your
waist-long hair, lit by the fire of Apollo. Show me
the way back to the garden of unending words.
Mari-Carmen Marin was born in Málaga, Spain, but moved to Houston, TX, in 2003, where she has found her second home. She is a professor of English at Lone Star College—Tomball, and enjoys dancing, drawing, reading, and writing poetry in her spare time. Writing poetry is her comfy chair in front of a fireplace on a stormy winter day. Her work has appeared in several places, including, Wordriver Literary Review, Scarlet Leaf Review, Dash Literary Journal, Months to Years, The Awakening Review, Lucky Jefferson, San Fedele Press, Willowdown Books, The Comstock Review, The Green Light Literary Journal, and Mothers Always Write.
The Ekphrastic Review
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