Looking at the faces
framed in the unshifting dust
of silver-gray pictures, I confess
a little envy.
How well they impersonate
their ghosts; how well
they mimic the onset
of their histories.
Looking at the faces
framed in the unshifting dust
of silver-gray pictures, I confess
a little envy.
How well they impersonate
their ghosts; how well
they mimic the onset
of their histories.