a life revisited
in photographs
is muted, monotone
less vibrant, less song
less witnessing the flutter of oaks
less of the slow turning
of a hand
cooking a meal
reading the paper
weeding the yard
less kissing in alleys
of a city that has been
growing older without you
this photo album is too quiet
to a seven year old
narrated by a father
how can these pictures
be expected
to speak to the world
on your behalf?