Photograph

Some haunt me pleasantly, Using the grains of dewy silence that speak loudly Within the long, grey halls of history. I recline on such images with smiles I borrow from The penetralia of my soul and skin. Behind them come lean trees denuded by the swift Gales of re-greened winters that celebrated Friendliness in the course of wondrous seasons. I peer deeply at them, genuflecting to Time For its abundance of grace and reflections. A spell of the past descends generously on me, Navigating genially through the winding routes of General ancestry. They must be black, with the silhouettes I crave — And white —with the silky mildews that glue together Dispersed unity of the fragile present. They transport me back to where I should have Been but couldn’t be, through the nostalgia for Where I was —only on sufferance.