myself in an old photograph

Myself in an Old Photograph

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.

Peter Kline

Peter Kline lives in San Francisco, where he is a Stegner Fellow in Poetry Writing.  Some of his recent work can be found in ZYZZYVA, Lo-Ball, The Potomac Review, Quiddity, and The Pennsylvania Review.

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