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.