and the photo I tookfalls out, a shiny black
and white, your eyessquinted, nearly shut,
camera held entirelytoo close.
I had triedto fill the frame
with your face,to create a likeness
I could carryto another town,
too far goneto ever leave you.
I am not sadI can’t see the blue
of your iris,that a shadow obscures
the mole on your cheek,that your gentle ears
have disappeared.I’m compelled, instead,
to remember, to fill inall that a photo
leaves out. I turnthe picture over,
finding you’ve written,don’t
forget me. The inklooped and arced, faintly
there, yet I seeyour unmistakable hand
shaping each slim letter,as if you understood
it would be your wordsthat would carry you
to the surfaceof my otherwise empty
aperture. Don’t forgetme. How could I
when you make it sowe are no longer
apart?
Photo by Vitaliy Shevchenko on Unsplash