You wonder what miscalculation led to this,
an over exposed photograph
that still somehow sings to you,
more like an impressionist painting,
an imagining more than a capture,
a reminder of places and events
without actually being one.
In your head, as you look at your mistake,
you hear music. You hear protests.
You hear children playing on the mall.
You smell cotton candy and sweat,
and the last lilacs of the season,
and none of it matters. None of the mistake, that is.
Like so many of your mistakes
it led to new magic, to a dance of the mind
as it attempts to connect the dots
and find something that may, or may not,
About this poem.
I have kept this photograph for years. I have no idea why. Over exposed and vague, perhaps it was just waiting for the right poem.