I have been reading ekphrasis poetry most of the day. But when I write it, it always seems to turn out more to be the imagined mind of the artist creating rather than a comment on her/his work. Here is one by Pascale Petit, on Frida Kahlo (because I just recently took in an exhibit of her work), who also writes by inhabiting the imagined artist’s mind:
What the Water Gave Me (VI)
This is how it is at the end –
while the waters break,
my skin glistening with amnion,
streaks of starlight.
And the waters keep on breaking
as I reverse out of my body.
My life dances on the silver surface
where cacti flower.
The ceiling opens
and I float up on fire.
Rain pierces me like thorns. I have a steam veil.
I sit bolt upright as the sun’s rays embrace me.
Water, you are a lace wedding-gown
I slip over my head, giving birth to my death.
I wear you tightly as I burn –
don’t make me come back.