That Photograph, That Day

Your face, alive, looking at another, gone. Paper. Nothing on the other side or known to be. You puzzle my unimaginative mind, That image has no evolution that I find To frame a fascination from, but it begins With every day your fresh response of memory. Confined in chromogenic residue. Silence divided by a lens, forgotten prompts, To stand like this, face the camera, you. A rare smile, apparently, called up by your appeal. Words that I shall never hear. And there: Those eyes that saw the you I’ll never see.