Myself in an Old Photograph
That was the day. This is the final record,
me before the change. It’s fantasy
to search out the expression of a word
in lips still motionless—how can I hope
to read a cheek’s subtext, identify
exactly the pigment, shadow, line or shape,
the gaze’s drift, the impossible unblurred
flicker of anguish in a printed eye
that means I did not know, but I would learn.
Nobody can be loved on his own terms.
Links:
[1] https://www.ablemuse.com/v9/bio/peter-kline?s=d2d1b3fea63616915c8728cf1ff88c9b
[2] https://www.ablemuse.com/v9/bio/rachel-hadas?s=d2d1b3fea63616915c8728cf1ff88c9b