poem inspired by this image from thoghtco.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I found us in a shoebox, tucked between receipts and time~ your laugh pressed flat like August wheat, your eyes still wet with sun. The edges curl like fingers reaching for what’s slipped away: a carnival of fireflies, the porch swing’s lazy groan, the way the light would hesitate before it left the room. Now the colors bleed a little~ your shirt a faded blue, the sky behind us thinning to something less than true. But here, in this dim silence, I hold the ghost of sound: the shutter’s click, your whispered stay, before the world moved on.
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