Through your lens the sequoia
swallowed me like a dryad.
The camera flashed & forgot.
I on the other hand must
practice my absent mindedness
memory being awkward as a touch
that goes unloved. Lately your
eyes have shut down to a shade
more durable than skin’s.
I know you love distance how
it smooths. You choose an aerial
view the city angled to abstraction
while I go for the close exposures:
poorly-mounted countenances along
Broadway the pigweed cracking
each hardscrabble backlot. It’s a
matter of perspective:
yours is to love me from a block
away & mine is to praise the grain
iness that weaves expressively