summer sinks
some forgotten
black polaroids
into my back
pocket

one is the sunset
though one can't tell
it looks like a home
for shadows

two is the water
a memory beneath my fingers
lingering like a ghost of
childhood i'd rather hold
onto while letting go.

three is all of us in the
moonlit night, drinking
cider to the crackle of fire
(my favorite channel)
while some part of me
curses a polaroid camera
loudly
and smiles

cliche summer poem
satiated present self
a long sweater swallows
up clumsy legs

i cling onto
the snapshots
lovingly

someone somewhere
sneezes and thinks of me
not where we should be
but content just to
remember;

softly,
        into the night