To be nostalgic is to look at a photo
And see a particular face.
The curse of the calendar may loom on us all
But their radiance looms in place.
Is it momentous now that I’ve seen them
Or is their existence theirs to emit?
In images or memories reflected,
No life ever seems to submit.
Some people seem like a moment in time:
Forever a force of nature.
Not endlessly massive in life,
But endlessly spirited in portraiture.
I always think that I’ll look back and see
Their glowing wonderful presence,
But I can’t look back, I can only look now
And feel wistful of their hold on the present.
I am not who I am forever
And nor will I ever be.
Neither are they, and yet,
A footprint spared of time’s debris.
Though I love you now,
I would’ve loved you then:
Face full of light
Poetic again and again.