October 28, 2014 § 1 Comment
A row of albums at attention across the shelf.
Automatic paintings of life lived.
Pin that butterfly, a moment in Maroon Bells,
Captured and detained, prisoners of grasping love.
Set pieces, aching in their perfect ruin.
Smile, come on.
No, the sun is in their face.
Oh, that’s a good one.
When mom left, a scavenger hunt.
Faithless scribblings from the distant son,
Knicky knacky detritus,
Even the crumpled tableau of that long dead boy.
All to the dumpster.
Frozen soldiers guarding punctuated images.
Waiting for the ruthless strangers
To render their release.