The Photograph

The Photograph

How precise, O Light, how bright and dark

Are thy returns! Just as longs as rolls of acetate film

That appear endless under the exposure of your giving arms.

Everything is such a gift from you;

A cenital shot taken from underneath my feet;

You’re still rough as water softener,

These open pores still lock you in.

They lock you in, along with me

Inside this dark room, well-lit

Once you get used to it.

These red lights drown in the purity of your substances;

Here you shall stay,

Slowly revealing ourselves

In the bright darkness of an enlarger machine

That will not taint our flattened surfaces.

Trapped inside, you and I,

In this E-6 process, not suited for black and white

(Not suited for what we are),

Stuck in a whirlwind of liquids

To bring out the best of both these worlds: yours and mine.

What’s the secret hidden in these 35s?

It all looks the same, but the other way around.

Layer within layer, I lie here with you, waiting

For someone to unveil our truth.

Turn off the lights when you’re ready,

But leave a light on when you go.

No one sees you when you’re hiding,

No one sees you when you’re on plain sight;

They see some of you in me,

But no one knows what happens

Behind these double doors.

Stay where you are,

Don’t let the shadows reveal your face;

Here we are, at the end,

Feeling and thinking the same;

Everyone knows it’s easier to smile

Safe and sound in a frame.

If you move, I’ll move even deeper inside,

To your graces I bring myself closer.

Let the water drown us in this confinement

And set us free, at least until we dry.