Sublime
I sometimes shudder at old pics,
their bittersweetness, their
cutting edge, their tricks:
….. daughter’s brilliant smiles,
….. mittens hung from cuffs,
….. Kodachrome taunts of time
….. —enough
I’d rather mine old stones, turn up
what’s scattered within my heart and head
….. —the gold
I’d rather stick with what’s been deeply sown,
take joy in what, within my heart, has grown.
I do not like as much, nostalgic risks.
The photo box stays beneath the bed
with CDs and snaps of bygone’s code
on paper, or on disks.
….. When memory goes will it matter?
Then, I may not even recognize the
aliens who peer from three by fours
or smile from screens in pixel splatters.
Love is as it comes in time, as it is in
moments real. Now is breath’s agency.
Now is never still, but alive, not held
in poignant frozen shots—
….. is immediate
….. is not mere blur
….. is true
….. sublime
Jim Culleny
Jan 29, 2011_Rev_032125
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