Sometimes memories are more real than the present moment.
The photo on the bridge
Was his favorite
The one they asked a stranger to take.
The sun was shy that day
So was she.
Feeding bits of bread to gulls
Asking questions that drew them closer
He recalls the meal they shared on the pier.
Her charcoal hair was now diamond
But the emerald of her eyes
Had never changed.
He had forgotten that her hosiery was cream colored
Until just this moment.
Is it time that blurred these two?
Or tears?
Her eyes were wide under the clouds
Now faded in the print he held
Before placing it next to her head
On the satin pillow
That would hold her
For eternity.
Poise, perfection and passion in prose. 
-M
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