In Black and White
 
You are blurred in this photograph. Strange
how the shutter captured me, trees,
the house–everything in sharp relief
except you,
caught in the act of vanishing.
Maybe you were never there.
Just a defect in the lens,
a trick of light.
 
I am tired of squinting at you
to see what shape you will take,
waiting for you to emerge from shadow
into something black and white.
I will leave this picture in the sun
until you fade and crack,
until we both turn brown.