Camera Lucida
The breath of moment
captures time itself. Pausing,
breathing, staring into your eyes,
I wonder who will speak first.
Instead, I look back through my
lenses, those reflective
beauties. I capture a slight moment
of you.
I wonder if this is how Delacroix felt
while painting his orphan girl.
He knew he was capturing something
quite remarkable.
I can tell by the faraway eyes,
she longs for more. Just one look
at the melancholy smile
and you could cry.
Her gypsy hair is long enough,
she’ll wrap it around your feet
if you wish.
Our conversation went like this:
You spoke in searing sermons,
and I closed my weary eyes.
When I opened them, you had
vanished...leaving only a quote
for me to ponder and weep upon.
I took those words you spoke
as if the ticking of time
depended on it. You, not only as my
lover, but as my constant
listener.
I will talk to you, be with you,
once my tongue is unraveled
and untangled by the mess
Time has done to me.
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