Framed in a Lens
You were taking a photo
As I was taking one of you.
You wore a long flowing sheath
Of blue as skies after a summer rain.
My camera held you still
As gentle breezes wafted your hem
And streamer’d your hair.
You overlooked a sea of reeds,
Dry as a cornstalks
At the end of the season,
That might have been the last remains
Of summer’s riot
Or springtime’s challenge to push aside.
I think it was springtime.
It must have been springtime
To be so bright and clean.
A wide-brimmed straw hat shaded your face
And with your camera held up
To centre your view
It completed your mask
That sought to hide your face.
I saw through your disguise.
The scene was Woodstock perfect,
A flower child in a perfect pose
Filled with hope and promise
And curiosity.
We often rambled and ambled
On an idle weekend
For no other reason
Than to be together.
That was reason enough.
I don’t recall the occasion
That brought us so far afield
Down this dusty, back-country road
But we found the perfect scene
For you to frame in your lens
And for me to frame in mine.
Palimpsest 
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