The Lost Camera

I woke today while the sun painted the atmosphere
Waiting for the photos to come back
Gleaming in grayscale, displayed in my brain
Closer to my mind than the alarm
that beats my eardrums like timpani sticks.
Yet I cannot touch the vibrating lines, or
hear the song passing between my ears
A song of things not forgotten:

That starless night I walked
under a clay-colored archway
while fireflies took the others dancing,
leaving us behind.
Fiery moonlight passing between gaps in statues
to shed light on new bonds

That morning I faced the sea with two fellow souls
Watching that same sun
toss copper over our skins
Feeling the sting of waves like icicles
and the sweep of sand on our knees
and the fear of earwig attack.

That darkness
where we lost ourselves
in fizzing sodas and lights like highlighters,
in hyperactive music,
just waiting to go deaf,
yet thinking clearly as July stars

That twilight
when that same fire roared in my patient eyes
And the flames ignited my sprinting feet,
as frost chained my unsure hands,
fingers woven like stitches on a scarf.
Me and you, you and me
What are we supposed to be?

That storm
which creeped upon the two of us
First garbed the sky in violets and marigolds
Then threw lightning,
as if photographing all magic down below,
among musty brick edifices of days past,
the stomping of feet muffled by boomboxes

Finally,
the rain.

Today, the sun has chosen gray from its intricate palette
And the winds have sent more clouds
I wrench open the squeaking window,
wonder if it rains where you are,
And catch the droplets in spaces between my fingers.





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