I found you in some of the out-of-focus pictures
from a couple of years ago.
In a way, I’m glad I never said
I loved you.
I let you fly by in film strips;
ghosts in the negatives –
all blurry and dreamlike,
like your watery fingerprints on these
photostrips, like the cloudy sky-waves of
late summer fog in the background.
We were slumped figures following high-tension wires,
darkened acquaintances swimming between
the peaces of nirvana and apathy.
I imagine if we had happened,
my life would be like
flying through a cloud –
dust, destiny, and
Pointlessness.
