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.