Thoughts on Shards, by Francesca Albini
A collection of prose poems
Pausing between poems to watch the rising sun penetrate the unfurling canopy of leaves, I finished reading the book in the early light, sitting on the back porch swing. The early morning is unseasonably warm and the air so still that I’m comfortable wearing only gym shorts. It’s still too early in the year for mosquitoes to be a problem. So I sit and read and enjoyed being led to the expanding deserts and the Yucatan jungles. I ponder vignettes that betray an interest in magic and mysticism, in God and whether or not the deity exists; in a study of the classics including a vision of what I assumed is Plato’s cave. I see the serpent slithering through her words. Enchanted, I’m tempted to follow. I’m haunted of descriptions of lover’s lips that almost touch and words that lure his lover’s eyes shut. A day passes. It’s now late at night and my eyelids are heavy. They’ll close shortly. As I watch her shadow dance across the walls of my inner eyes, I'll ponder.
A collection of prose poems
Pausing between poems to watch the rising sun penetrate the unfurling canopy of leaves, I finished reading the book in the early light, sitting on the back porch swing. The early morning is unseasonably warm and the air so still that I’m comfortable wearing only gym shorts. It’s still too early in the year for mosquitoes to be a problem. So I sit and read and enjoyed being led to the expanding deserts and the Yucatan jungles. I ponder vignettes that betray an interest in magic and mysticism, in God and whether or not the deity exists; in a study of the classics including a vision of what I assumed is Plato’s cave. I see the serpent slithering through her words. Enchanted, I’m tempted to follow. I’m haunted of descriptions of lover’s lips that almost touch and words that lure his lover’s eyes shut. A day passes. It’s now late at night and my eyelids are heavy. They’ll close shortly. As I watch her shadow dance across the walls of my inner eyes, I'll ponder.
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