The String Tied To Your Finger
by Steven McCabe
I remembered night.
How the night air felt sacred
like a string tied to my finger
reminding me
to breathe night
in the fragrance of crushed black flowers,
in the fragrance of sacred flowers.
poemimage
Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary. Often posting 1st drafts and editing in (almost) real time.
poemimage 
Always such haunting words. I’m just going to ask – what’s the poem about? At least give me 3 hints!
Hi Tiege, Thank you for this comment. It started off as being about three things (speaking of threes) that involved both cars and night. Others too. Solitary others. Once when I was young. Once when older. Sort of opposite situations. And I forget what the third one was. Then the poem shifted away from cars – this happened quickly – only staying with night. I pictured the night sky from various times. Then probably my current ‘concerns’ came into focus. I’m not trying to obfuscate so much as use things as a springboard into something else. And then leave the context behind.
Agh those hints are even more enigmatic!!!
But the explanation at the end is very illuminating. It’s fascinating to hear the artist’s process.