C.W. Bryan Poet Ekphrasis

Opening a Gate

for Astrid

The first time I can remember
being moved by a photograph
was when I began to look through
your eyes. The way that poet 
says young boys first see the world
through the eyes of their mothers.
The photograph is called Helsinki, 
Finland, 1982 by Pentti Sammallahti. 
I first read about him in an essay 
by John Berger which I only read 
because you mentioned reading him 
in college, back before I ever knew you.
In the picture a dog is stretching
his back legs, his chest held high
toward something in the distance.
He seems a suppliant to a godhead
just past the point of perception, as all
godheads tend to be, something just
out of frame. Above the dog a tree
stretches itself toward the same point.
The canvas seems to stretch itself, too.
The photograph has a focal point
I cannot see, only the subjects can.
I strain my eyes to find it in that bright
white wash of sunlight. The photo
is in black and white, which lets 
the viewer paint it with their mind.
Through your eyes the tree is pink
with life, the dog is black and brown,
like Bug was. The sun is pale yellow
and high; it looks like it will never set
because for this one singular moment
time stretches itself towards eternity.

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