elegy for a lost angel
-for my grandmother

in cumulus clouds. you now dance with my 35 mm (i loaded it for you)
taking snapshots of God and your disciples
as you dance to the music before there was sex

in life. leaning on dining room tables with elbows and cigarettes (i in a high chair to the left)
you sneak a drink and allow for slow development times
between vodka and water between a concentration gaze and black out

interruption. Uncle Bill and your husband fade into the foreground (i in the back)
blocking images of you huddling and hovering over tables; elbows and cigarettes
with talk of hunting and rifles, fishing and canoes in Michigan on Lake Silver in the reservoir

inside the frame. they overlook the reality smile and half empty glass (i caught)
avoiding the circumspection of art that my 35 mm caught
somewhere after the blank stares but before the bottle tipped over

inscription read. we got caught up in the celluloid entrapment of us (i caged us in)
forgetting the coughing fits of collapsible lungs sewn together weekly
focusing on arcane smiles behind lenses behind halos

in cumulus clouds. you dance to the music before there was sex (i could never dance)
above the rain joining God with his potato barrels against the rooftop of the sky
as you circle above me, looking down, taking snapshots of your disciple

04.30.02