The Photograph
I don’t recognize myself;
this is not uncommon,
but he seems to me like a pale root
dragged-up to be exposed to sooty clouds;
one raw and unearthed by quarrying shadows.
A grainy tinge shades vacant eyes.
In the distance, tenement towers -
grey tusks in a monochrome sky.
A callus of light embalms a sallow horizon,
revealing just enough of the child
to spook the dead.
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