Five photographers, Shelley Webster, Tim Bauer, Tamara Gulic, Tim Anger and me were invited by Jennine Primmer to interpret and exhibit images of a stanza from a poem written by Tamryn Bennett. Mine was the last stanza.
A nice exercise, most of my photos came from Thirteen Rooms, such great subjects.
Cut a silver path
through the singing grass,
the high tide of cicadas,
each footstep an echo, a trace.
Blue fire beetles
in fields of flowering cloud.
Cup your hands to carry secrets,
this is where the light is deepest.
We dream these nights dark
our head full of feathers,
remembering birds like comets,
ghost-tails of indigo and ice.
Bury the map of bones
beside the sleeping
stones, soil beneath your fingers,
the ground begins to breathe.
Dance again
like you did with the trees,
lilac webs between branches,
the autumn of release.
