THE SORT
Another box of pictures one’s to sort,
Decades lost in the attic … a light cough
Of separation, instinctual pause
Of action, by those who say little
Of themselves, captors unmarked, unnamed
By the sweet curving hand of late Aunt June,
Who at a glance of rippled-edged rectangles
Would have penned a phonebook of relations. […]
HAWKEYE
(for Joel P.)
1
Wishing the now of captures lingered
So one might shoot again,
But culling the big twelve,
Several were set aside for next-of-kin
2
The miss-framed better-forgotten
Refractions of light
In cahoots with chemistry
Of that grainy time
3
Of tempered view
Fawning chameleon memory
The white of a face
Planed in a burning blink, […]
