when the photographs magnify
the good times with the worst
when they smear and blur and wobble
and it's too hard to see sepia
for what it was
for what it's worth
hold those snapshots
craddle, squeeze, caress
like babies
like a dying woman's hand
like shadows of a past reality
let the dams break
let the bawls rock you
to sleep or to insanity
whichever comes most
naturally
cheeks will tattle
via burst blood-vessels
eyelids may be swollen
for sunrises to come
your voice, gone
but it won't matter
no, not as you wonder
how many people
have wept themselves to death?