I found this pairing of photograph and poetry inspired by it a while back, I think on Alec Soth’s blog (which he is no longer posting to).
THE FLOODED GRAVE (after a photograph by Jeff Wall)
by Graham FoustIn what’s become this room
we are hostless
for the most part.There is infinite glitter.
There is earth.An open grave,
let’s say–not automatically
horrific–or
the not saying “raining”
in what is now this room.We tune and we fade,
not undetermined upon bloom.We shatter that way.
We don’t and then we do.
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