Nothing in this picture tells me what place this is.
Rocks turning green, exposed to salt air
turning white as water retreats and leaves sand patterns behind.
I have no recollection of this day depicted in this photograph.
I'm having trouble making sense of photos, stories, letters and articles
I've accumulated;these subjects must have moved me once.
I only know that the cutting and the pasting was easy and quick and
these tools gave me instant accomplishments.
Thoughtless and careless,
I can stalk everything and everyone, any time of the day and night
hoarding volumes and volumes
that could never leave
tall monasteries, yet
I don't feel power or delight in all this wealth
through a viewfinder.
I feel as though I'm threading water in a lake
saturated with invasive species,full of reeds without redemptive powers
hiding nothing and everything.
What an easy breezy task this is, not worried about remembering facts
each position easily reversed with a new set of data
a constant shifting ground
as the next salt-water tide
bleaches space and time
from my grey cells.
Will I still be able to recognize those human intrusions
that will make my heart soar beyond the moment
reach for a pen
jot down a name
an address on a piece of paper that can witness today?
Will my life change if I can no longer tell
what impeding decay smells like?
Will I shed tears in the face of loss
or quickly click the local heroes of comedy until the feeling passes?