Window into the past
Small, above me, pulling myself up, more knothole
in wooden fence, eye pressed hard against,
straining to see you, as you were
Back then

Standing alongside her, leaned in, radiating happy
Thru the palm sized grainy film you’ve left
She: mink stole, skirt, heels, one hand on purse
Arms around each other’s waist
Outside in an open lot
Was the house built?  To be?

Easier to pull and peer at that picture
than find the window into your heart
Obscured, foggy, secreted, off to the side
Would your friends have known, shared in
What you were holding inside at that moment

Was it the mink, newly constructed home, her, children, a future brimming?
That had you so full of smile and hug, that leaning
What could you, would you, like to say
In your fresh suit and dark black hair at 35 and counting
Just halfway
To your end