Photograph of Daniel Stearne

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

-Ezra Pound “In a Station of the Metro”


I saw her silhouette in the kitchen through the gaps in the lattice of the deck. The sun gave her figure the shadowy outline and the wind shook a nearby maple distorting the image like an old, dusty film. As I snapped twigs between my fingers, I strained, squinting my eyes, hoping to defeat the solar glare, but could not. She made quick, sure movements, disappearing and then reappearing in the window’s frame. Suddenly, she stopped. Advancing on the glass, her profile seemed to notice me and I felt the hidden eyes upon mine. An audible gust of wind pushed the branches of the maple against the light—briefly-- and our gazes met. In that flash, I caught a glimpse of her tired eyes before she quickly glanced away from my penetrating stare. As quick as it had come, the wind died. My only thought: “How could something that began so riotous, die so complacently in a whimper?” As my eyes adjusted to the returning sunshine showering the glass, I snapped a large branch and saw the blank canvas where her silhouette once absorbed the light. I could not shake the notion that I would feel the residue and sap from the bark upon my hands and see the image of the empty window until my bones returned to the dust.