A photograph of a girl,
with dark hair and a bright smile.
And overtime, over pictures, you see her unfurl.

A smile, and a glimmer in her eye,
her rosy cheeks stretch into a smile, with her arm around her friend,
the change is hard to deny.

A week ago, hollow cheeks and bright hair,
dried from the bleach and dye,
when did she fall into the depths of despair?

Empty eyes with no hope,
and a plain, faked grinned,
her decline is a slippery *****.

She falls further down,
gripping to the sides,
as she tumbles and tumbles and tumbles.

Our love is
like a polaroid-
it developed slowly and
even shaken along the way.
But no matter what our
perfect picture has endured,
it will always be worth framing
as long as you are
center frame.

Always amazed in eerie incantation,
our love captured in time,
frozen on still image;
black and white, translucent,
I fill in for lacking colors.

Embracing on town boulevard,
birds fluttering on autumn sky
place where we met in afternoon-lit shops,
the old cafe were we danced
brimming with wanderlust souls.

Pretentious foliage with a warming hug,
dancing orange-blue flowers on cream dress,
dangling jewelry: rings, golden bracelets,
red lip imprint left on dreaming face,
intertwined lives, encompassing forever.

Our memories play like old movies,
your clean perfume, dropping rivulets,
past left behind, dirt on shadows,
anything I would do to go back
where gentle whispers summon smiles.

I’m back, a ghost town years later
from a love that never was,
desperately searching through places,
the ones we explored together,
I mutter your name to utter strangers-

Voice braking, quivering frown,
frustration, on descent,
a numbness with no light,
silence, for no one has seen you since,
this old photograph, the only witness left.

you remind me of sunsets and hearths
that stretch on the line
where empyrean touches the earth.

the golden strokes with hints of red hues
blended with purples, crimsons, and daisies
reflect itself from the rhythmic
glowing collision of ocean waves
like sepia photographs.

as the last bright rays
fade into the night,
it rests a promise before it lifts
the blanket of velvet twilight.

from the horizon
you see the heaven articulating its thoughts,
“paradise is not where the sky meets the ocean,
it lies on your presence,”

i stay lost in you for a little longer.

Snapshots
by Michael R. Burch

Here I scrawl extravagant rainbows.
And there you go, skipping your way to school.
And here we are, drifting apart
like untethered balloons.

Here I am, creating "art,"
chanting in shadows,
pale as the crinoline moon,
ignoring your face.

There you go,
in diaphanous lace,
making another man’s heart swoon.
Suddenly, unthinkably, here he is,
taking my place.

Published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly, Centrifugal Eye, Poetry Webring, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse. Keywords/Tags: snapshot, picture, photograph, photo, album, memory, keepsake, remembrance, token, memento, art, replacement

I.
I once asked about halations, and wondered what they were;

If they did at all exist, for once.

How they'd appear only in blurry and unfocused pictures;
Or perhaps at times, still and expectant on the verge of our tears?

Now the question:
"What makes a halation?" And if we're thinking of the same thing.


II.
So I then wrote about halations, and tried to make (believe) sense—  
of what they were (not) portraying.

I spoke of their lucidity amongst all others;
of their ever-curious charm,
and of their picturesque whims—

yet denied them a photograph; and opt for another.

Hence was said:
"More than a picture; a metaphor."

In other words: are we thinking of the same thing?


III.
With it, I'll once again talk about halations, and wonder where they are;

Wonder when they might appear.

If the lights still scatter after—
and on the far side: if they would cast the same fair shades then.

Here I quote:
"For every shot taken is merely a remnant of the most beautiful."

I will speak of the light; and without doubt—
be thinking of a different someone.