the following poem was written in response to the above image--part of an online poetry class
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I hold what you cannot~ the tremor of a laugh half-caught, sunset’s blush on cheekbones, the ghost of hands now gone. I am both jail and shrine: edges gilded, corners sharp, a border you impose on light that once was free. You dust me, shift me, hang me crooked, straighten me again~ as if my weight could anchor what your heart has lost. And when you pause, trace the glass with fingertips, you’re not remembering. You’re asking the photo to remember you.
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