The hands full of flowers. The best parts of ourselves. So that we might be taken in and make you smile As we are held with care.
Maybe it hurts.
Maybe it is beautiful, but wilts away.
Then we return to the fields of clover and honey and fireweed before the autumn sets And we try again.
Running back to our homes with another gift torn from the meadow Of our selves.
I am looking for the one who can help me see the world through both my eyes How do I find them half blind?
I keep hearing Everything's going to be OK. She said, I just don't believe it Yet.
We meet in the basements Of churches, Under the eyes Of people who refuse To see us.
Our pain asks us to sit with it For it is lonely too.
The souls of trees are in the sky. That is why they reach so high.
As I laid beside you All I really wanted to do Was touch you.
It was so simple. She had simply one day been forgotten.
You did not know Because you could not feel it. And you left So you could not see it. My long loose hair Falling to a wood floor.
I wish to be seen. I wish to be unseen.
Maybe it is what we try to give each other. The hands full of flowers. The best parts of ourselves. So that we might be taken in and make you smile As we are held with care. Maybe it hurts. Maybe it is beautiful, but wilts away. Then we return to the fields of clover and honey and fireweed b...
I am looking for the one
who can help me see the world through both my eyes
How do I find them half blind?
Captions
Scabiosa owerinii
I could think of nothing else, but to give someone, something
And in the giving I gave to myself that which I needed most.
Captions
Inula conyza, Bupleurum falcatum
Speak of your pain and I will speak of mine.
And perhaps, in the spaces between your body and my own
We will find the parts of ourselves that only the souls can quietly call out.
I keep hearing Everything's going to be OK. She said,
I just don't believe it Yet.
Captions
Astrantia maxima, Salvia nemorosa, Knautia montana, Dianthus cretaceus
You spoke the words in my mouth
Before they could escape my lips
and I felt the heart in my chest Leave me for the warmth of yours.
Captions
Melilotus officinalis
Never is a place I've been. It is not so dark as you might expect. The light of never shines much as it might on other parts of the earth.
Never is a place I've been. There is sometimes joy, sometimes sorrow, But never is without agenda.
Never is a place I've been. I found you there a time or two. Then others. Then myself.
But never is a place I've been more times than never, but less than forever.
We meet in the basements Of churches,
Under the eyes Of people who refuse
To see us.
Captions
Filipendula ulmaria
Burning the earth beneath me I bring it up with my hands
I climbed to a lake in the sky Split in half by two worlds; Speaking two languages.
It was by the water's edge that I buried you.
As I descended I felt an emptiness; a lightness.
I looked up Seeing a single wolf on the precipice
Heading back down towards the world below. Burning.
Our pain asks us to sit with it For it is lonely too.
Captions
Dianthus cretaceus
A damp morning sang the song of the horse; short and high and secret and rare.
Climbing over the bow of color in the grey, yellow sky, Its song dipped and bent with the north wind singing chorus in the trees until it landed in the fields afar.
Good morning, it sang. I sing of the colors you cannot see.
Captions
Trifolium arvense
Ink on the page,
like blood in the vein.
The souls of trees are in the sky.
That is why they reach so high.
Captions
Senecio grandidentatus, Epilobium angustifolium
As summer ascended, The flowers I gave you grew wings
And flew away.
Captions
Campanula rapunculoides, Verbascum laxum
I hear the coyotes
scream in the night.
Calling out over the expanse Filling empty space of cow pastures. Hello Where are you?
Coming together through sound and spirit.
Their sounds are so joyous. So joyous.
They raise my soul up to the dark skies; Give me hope.
It is as if they know When my soul resides below the earth; When it is trapped within my body; When it aches to fly out into the fields and breath in the damp, tenebrous air.
Then they call.
As I laid beside you All I really wanted to do
Was touch you.
Captions
Gentianopsis ciliata
In her loneliness She created in him Someone who was not there.
Seeing flowers Where there were only fallen leaves.
She wanted so badly to apologise to a spectre who never existed.
Captions
Gentiana septemfida
I can not sleep. I can not help sleeping.
I dream of prison towers and walking up invisible staircases
Then I wake with eyes dampened. I can feel the ridges along my brow.
It was so simple. She had simply one day been forgotten.
Captions
Woronowia speciosa
They tell me
I escape the world by running through it.
Captions
Geranium sanguineum, Astrantia maxima
Because You hung my bouquet By your door for too many years.
Because The petals and the leaves fell to the floor with every passing person and day.
Because The master's wort curled in, became brittle.
Because The geraniums, gasped for air transluscent.
Because As the sides of your home fell in and the winter air made you cold,
And you brought the flowers to me, ashen and falling around your fingers saying,
"I did not forget you. I only laid you down for a time."
Not realising that I too had become ashen and fallen.
You did not know Because you could not feel it.
And you left So you could not see it.
My long loose hair Falling to a wood floor.
Captions
Leucanthemum vulgare
Then came the day
When she did not want
In her life
The person see used to
Love the most.
Captions
Tanacetum macrophyllum
The memory
of being thrown aside
Created in her
a need to outgrow
him
and his pain.
I wish to be seen. I wish to be unseen.
Captions
Potentilla ruprechtii, Melilotus officinalis, Securigera varia
He tried again and failed.
It was not the attempt that was a failure,
but something else entirely.
Maybe it is what we try to give each other.
The hands full of flowers. The best parts of ourselves. So that we might be taken in and make you smile As we are held with care.
Maybe it hurts.
Maybe it is beautiful, but wilts away.
Then we return to the fields of clover and honey and fireweed before the autumn sets And we try again.
Running back to our homes with another gift torn from the meadow Of our selves.
Clary Estes
Clary Estes is a documentary photographer and writer from Central Kentucky who works internationally.