Remember when you’d stand there
shaking the film as it developed from a grey
ghost slipping through the shadow world,
like a walleye
rising up through
tannin stained waters,
desperate to stay
hidden but
pulled uncontrollably
towards the surface that
tensioned between
you and I.
Little by little the granular
surface would appear
underneath colors
that couldn’t quite
be explained. Then we’d
shove our eye into
that rubber socketed
viewfinder again and
shift the sun to the
left while crossing
our fingers. While missing
the larger, contagious
beauty?
If only this touches
the memory of this moment
just a fraction, sets the hook,
I can reel in the rest of
it years from
now when we dig
through a dusty box
forgotten in the attic.
Remember when we spent
more time making the
memory than recording it?
Let’s do that again.
Let’s do
that now.
©Timothy James Stouffer 06082017
All Rights Reserved Ely, Minnesota
surface would appear
underneath colors
that couldn’t quite
be explained. Then we’d
shove our eye into
that rubber socketed
viewfinder again and
shift the sun to the
left while crossing
our fingers. While missing
the larger, contagious
beauty?
If only this touches
the memory of this moment
just a fraction, sets the hook,
I can reel in the rest of
it years from
now when we dig
through a dusty box
forgotten in the attic.
Remember when we spent
more time making the
memory than recording it?
Let’s do that again.
Let’s do
that now.
©Timothy James Stouffer 06082017
All Rights Reserved Ely, Minnesota
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