Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Streetlights glowing,
Like bedcovers laying,
Over the harbour waters inky as
Freshly-spilled car-crash blood,
Reflecting deep as a thought can penetrate.

A parade of gunfire
Startles silent rage into the frightened round-up locals
Eyes cowering and arms raised like scarecrow’s overhanging,
While in a side-alley doorway
A soldier anxiously caresses
A girl who he will never speak to again
The tequila-resembling sun standing watch
Their sole clandestine companion.

A child is given relieving news,
Having arrived not without frustrated effort
That she no longer has to follow the same life-stifling routine.
Her doctor, after the dizzying business of congratulating her parents,
Looks out his window without witnessing their departure
Until his eyes are cast back to dispersion
Appreciating fresh rain turn a week’s snowfall
Into puddles upon the ground.

The mind resists the heart’s attempt to repress,
We resist our own borders admitting a consistency of strain
Memory indulging in a fleeting spectacle of sin,
The Sickly exterior of the heart’s delight.

Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Moments throughout our lives repeated in the stock footage of the
mind,washing thoughts matted out of stark exposure
seeding out  a negative frame.