For Stacy
My visual memory loses shapes all too easily.
Being, as we seem to be, but our memories,
I declare myself to be a blur.
I had a camera with me, I had a camera with me.
The moment was more enthralling than the act
of reaching in my rucksack
for moments of posterity.
I declare Movement as inferior to Moment.
And Moment as inferior to Movement.
That will be known as a complex of inferiority.
No matter.
I’m still in doubt if she was floating in her dress,
if her dress was floating off of her.
