(after the painting by Roberto Matta

Echaurren)

 

 

And when it ended

there was a terrible groan

like the voice of a tree

falling from the weight

of too many seasons of death

and the pain of rebirth.

 

The ground could not hold.

Rocks heaved a last appeal.

Space filled

with an anarchy of white

shifting to red.

 

And then a silence

deafening, more profound,

its inevitability told

at the instant of its birth

when the word was everything

green, young and ours

we lived in that moment

not knowing it would end

with none of us to hear.

 
 

 
 

Biography:  Nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, Neil Ellman writes from New Jersey.  More than 1000 of his poems, many of which are ekphrastic and written in response to works of modern and contemporary art, appear in print and online journals, anthologies and chapbooks throughout the world.  His first full-length collection is Parallels: Selected Ekphrastic Poetry, 2009-2012 (Omphaloskeptic Press).

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