apparently,

this time last year i was
procrastinating
and writing
things
like:

Memories
(Dia de playa)

I saw a glimpse of heaven
up the skirt of a second story balcony,

but it was only a memory:

a Polaroid couple at the shore, the hand
of a photographer left alone.

Romance dies; art
inevitably follows.

We stood in front of a mirror pocked and punctured,
watching our reflection deteriorate and
give way to what lie ahead.

We took a picture, like
the old man fifty years before, so
we would have something to hold onto.

[lapse]

I didn't cry until the next
morning, when I began
putting it down on
paper, and began
letting go; the
art we were
becoming
the art
this
is.

Dia de playa, a photograph by Patricio Reig