faded photographs, taken yesterday
Nostalgia that was not quite tinted by melancholy Wiping phantom tears from dry eyes I can still feel the tracts of moisture running down my face Or maybe that’s just the shower, where I went to hide the fact that No tears were shed I thought I should have been slighted, so I stormed out of the room At a playground, a swing that a child already jumped off Everyone around them yearned to reach the sky I waited for the moment when I hit the ground A disguise not yet donned, folded neatly for the morning When the morning comes I no longer need it I smile into the mirror A white flower, in a white sink, with a steady drip of water On black and white film, you can’t see a thing