we took no photo
to commemorate the moment
when we stood, the city
at our feet -
or when the sun rose
after a night of
walking.
instead, like
copperplate engravings
we etched the moment
mystically into
the folds and sinews
of the synapses,
firing away in
perfect synchronization.
paper may decay -
and perhaps our
brains one day
as well, but somehow,
that moment seems
more than preserved
in the echoing
silences between
the spaces that hold
us together, and tell
us who we are.
© Eleanor Clark
5 July 2015
