POEM

Fossil Shell by Michael Grove
Posted May 26, 2000 · Issue 79

Where the animal was is crystal: what
spiralled into its body-whorl through the
last, nacreous light a white eye winking for
eternity. Eyes not empty for time's
next landscape are not the ones we meet, or
empty of reflection in a mirror
at the end of a dim hall. The sun is
keeper of the last exit, and conjures
shadows with the door to guide all eyes through
the hours between despair and hope. Where is
an end to its morsing when like crystal
the edge of shadow breaks into colours,
and the exquisite movement of eyes is
crushed with time to the sparkling rock of love?

Michael Grove studied psychology at Sydney University in Australia and has worked in education, corrective services, and community health. He is convinced that developments in all the sciences have pressing implications for the poetic mind. He is working on a futuristic novel. A collection of his poems, On Vacation, will be published later this year in FlashPoint, a multidisciplinary journal in the arts and politics.

Frederick H. Carlson is a professional artist and illustrator whose clients include The Saturday Evening Post, Baltimore Sun and Pittsburgh Magazine. His work can be seen at www.carlsonstudio.com.