Midnight Goddess. (First Version).

I lift your photograph off the shelf
with a nervous hand.
I should have smoothed back
that wild tangle of auburn
before I adjusted the close up lens
and flicked the shutter open.

I was tracing an icon of you
through diffused lighting
and muted greys and blues;
but an icon can never be more
than a simple mirror image
of what the camera sees.
An ephemeral abstraction
discretely articulated
in the briefest
breath of time.
Such beauty must remain
a piece of fiction,
a smudge that mars the surface
of a simple square of paper.

I study deep the fragile solitude
of startled, half closed eyes,
black in their hooded alcoves
of drear October shadow,
small elemental fragments
from the dark side of your moon.
And now I quietly wonder
as I lift the picture up
to kiss the faded outline of your lips,
If you can still recall the vows you
whispered
that long, myth laden night
of rain and thunder,
before you left my house that final time
to catch the early train.........................



Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 1st. 2012. - July 18th. - 19th. 2014.