The act:
disappearing
the past, not dramatic
as it once was, reduce coated
paper

to black
white ash. Now a
click: gone forever, code
overwritten, the result is
the same:

you are
gone, I am here,
without. Over length, crimp,
curl of synapses, you appear,
or not,

your face
as true as I
remember, or not, &
your melodious voice is heard,
or not.

– Eugene Stevenson

Author’s Note: One of the reasons why I write is to make photographs from the daily rushes our lives produce. I cannot discard photos, no matter how painful. Some people do so easily, out of hurt, anger, resentment, or envy. Images that remain after the photos have been destroyed are those we carry in our heads & hearts.