around the photographs of smiles, roses, and formal attire
wilts an aging desiccated envelope of matte-textured plastic,
the wrapping of dull candy surfaces from a childhood memory

centered upon bantam molds of Corinthian columns 
was the focused lens with the narrow aperture of a fisted iris,
spun in whirlpools like water fleeing through the nadir 

the porcelain basin of memory and time fell through my eyes,
spread onto Kodak paper, my hands around her waist, and her hands upon mine,
the security of down comforters, of well-known and trusted places

on her wrist, the orchid, the lace and baby's breath;
on my lapel, the roses, cloven at right angles, the focus
of thought, wonder, and an existential longing for cessation of 

light, moving and never aging, and time dilated into 
widening spaces (the distance to the ground from the
perspective upon my father's shoulders) awash in vain-

glory, disbelief, and teeth bared and taut
lips pulled back by the visible musculature
writhing and seething now in my throat,

each thought the 
flash ... of spent filaments, 
or reflections on corrective lenses, lost now in loose 

images

of orchids and irises flowing through watery
splintered whorls, receding tungsten firmaments ... but less real and less,

like a rose-hip 
to the rose, 
(bitter fruit borne
so much less vital 
than sanguine petals)

fallen from difficult memory ... lost down 
the swirling porcelain I once vomited into
as a child ... like time and paramount lighting
pulling shadows from ... the frayed corners
of rented photo jackets 
and the royal blue 
tie ... and from her

(eye ...) and 

I.



Timothy A. Clark
1997