When I’m out, it’s random things that make me write poems and take photos. After dinner one night, my wife and I passed this brick wall. and I loved it… the way the light was hitting it. I had to get out and take photos… my wife stayed in the car. I treasure moments when I’m able to stop what I’m doing and capture that in a photo.
As if the mortar were a sorter of bricks, shadow, and light
I went to retrieve the camera from my car.
My wife, cold from the night, smiled at the sight
Through the window of her husband, in the dark.
Finding photos of texture and angles in the wall
I watched the grit that seeped out alive.
Suspended through time in it’s failing to fall
Trapped when it tried to survive.