There are photographs you will never
see, (this one included)
shifting tectonic plates in the
the quiet space under the ink and the shudder
where your bones lie.
I look at you and I want to compose
a symphony to your boot
and your tibia
but a biplane has already sung
for you when the sky fell.
(My great-grandfather flew over France in WWI with the 50th Aero Squadron, taking photos and mapping enemy territory for the bombs. When I was visiting my mom earlier this month we found his cache of photos taking in Verdun, France 1918.)