Fayoum

We all try to hide from the Intruder
the one who sweeps in on wings of infection
or insurrection…of accident or some evasive
puzzlement.

Fayoum is anywhere and everywhere.
Faces saying, “I was here!” speak with eloquent
eyes. This one, so young, speaks of health and wealth,
but not currency enough to pay off the Intruder.

Your portrait seems unfinished. Was the demand for
artists so great that your face was rushed into the grave?
Your soul reaching through eyes alive with the
captured sparkle of a life interrupted…

Lips full with youthful promise…Even the gold that
adorns your head and neck was not enough to buy
another day. Yet, your eyes cross rivers of time and
speak today, dispelling words like ‘ancient’ and
‘foreign’, ‘centuries’ and ‘final’. No words are needed in
your gaze. In turn, I also gaze in silence, except for the
scratching of a poet's pen…

And in the warmth of your skin I feel a pulse that matches
mine.