A Sunset 

Ari Banias

I watch a woman take a photo

of a flowering tree with her phone.

A future where no one will look at it,

perpetual trembling which wasn’t

and isn’t. I have taken photos of a sunset.

In person, “wow” “beautiful”

but the picture can only be

as interesting as a word repeated until emptied.

I think I believe this.

Sunset the word holds more than a photo could.

Since it announces the sun then puts it away.

We went to the poppy preserve

where the poppies were few but generous clumps

of them grew right outside the fence

like a slightly cruel lesson.

I watched your face, just out of reach.

The flowers are diminished by the lens.

The woman tries and tries to make it right

bending her knees, tilting back.

I take a photo of a sunset, with flash.

I who think I have something

to learn from anything learned nothing from the streetlight

that shines obnoxiously into my bedroom.

This is my photo of a tree in bloom.

A thought unfolding

across somebody’s face.


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