Fireworks tempt the sky
to empty itself of its stars,

or to respond and embellish
each shimmer shown.

You say gold when you mean

light when you see
the future at past speeds.
                       Your camera
captured the dream
your hands

                       tried to draw
one evening in 2006, a year
that never gets much play
in retrospectives. The shelf

experiments with holding
utensils you used. You have

a captured picture. It funnels

weather into your mind,
a firm way to transfer silence.
                       Pixels combine

to bleed out the past,
lines the shape of memory.