Photograph 2 (series)

PHOTOGRAPH # 2

It is a photograph of your legs, one foot taking a step forward, and a single pigeon roams frenziedly at your feet.

The pavement of the street is dirty, the sheen of the orange and grey tiles obscured by

the grime of the city.

A thousand feet a day, marking their perfunctory presence there- rapidly going

nowhere, somewhere, anywhere.

And you- standing there- trying to move forward, frozen in a time and space all of

your own.

You feel like a lamented soul trying to find a home amongst the feverish madness-

not knowing which way is right or wrong.

I found you just then, that way, I was the same. We were both longing for someone to

remember our names.

Trying to hide our red red wings beneath the fabric of our winter coats.

That pigeon running circles at your feet is numbed by the lens of the camera into a

barely visible blur, bleeding out a red pool of isolation, so perfectly reflecting the light

lost in your brown eyes.

I found you then,

I found myself- in those absent wandering eyes.