The end of National Poetry Month
Friday, April 29th, 2011Photographic Memory
with a heavy soul
desires have become memories
like a photograph I recall seeing
but not sure where
your past and mine
could be like
the energy of a wave
like the lines
on the back of my hand
the creases in your face
like a road map
We never follow
but keep—just in case
like the box
of secrets
hidden in the back of my closet
our history like intersections
crossing in the middle of nowhere
framed, dissected and hung on the wall
a silver gelatin camera-eye
languishing in our death’s-head
like love–that never happened
















