Iris Blooms

by owlsofthewild

I’m told she had green eyes, but I can’t tell

by the face forever frozen in black and white.

 

I tried to take a step beyond the glass once,

but the frame held me in place, making faces.

 

Eyes hover over broken surfaces like mirrors,

but what is a soul when it’s set on the mantelpiece?

 

Her lips never move, though I’m sure they spoke

as often as my own, but her eyes follow me.

 

Springtime. The frame is grass and irises and the

glass is far enough to ignore, but for bent sunlight.

 

I take the photo into the air that breathes itself.

Look me in the eyes if you want to see in color.