you’re a developing photograph

you’re a developing
photograph and I’ll
fit neatly into the
background.

a family of turtles gallop
from point A along
the length of your
diagonaled hypotenuse

and again you’ve missed
your lay-over so you
find yourself back in
the dark room.

bright, you waver into
existence, a trembled bleed
of corrective ink
on a pre-treated page.

some dog-eared corner
of a paperback purchased
for a different draft
is your thumb-stained lens;

it’s page fifty-seven,
line seventy-five and someone’s
turning around a moment too
soon the song ends.

you’re a developing photo—
bomb dropped into an
eastern wind bound
for another generation.

we finger-painted
side-by-side,
a hideous orange blob
on white-framed canvas.

the flash echoes a
connective sphere of influence:
stained-glass heavy
with fishbowl inversion.

there was a time when
I wrote a poem and
switched you and I
and we were neither.

because smokestacks
have never regained
their once familiar
comfort; braided thrice.

you’re a developing photo,
graphed quick and slanted
over years of whited-out
frameworks and left to
tremble in the dark.

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