.the photographs.

i saw you fallen

&

photographed you

took you to be stitched.

yet i could not save you

nor

any of you.

you are a metaphor for death.

these

old photographs spur us on

to
care and treasure,

to

sweep and clean.

i keep yours by the stairs

to remind

that if you could leave us

so can anyone.

so

having written of the hour,

move on when all seems lost.

the days remain

timeless.