The Photographer

Though my shoes are worn

Down these streets I go

Catching glimpses of

Shuttered conversations

Quality of light

Through these people I flow

We’re all the sum of

Our misplaced devotions

I remember when

These pictures meant something

Forgotten scenes but not by me

Or the quality of light

Is it too late yet?

Though my shirt is torn

Down these streets I go

Hearing whispers of

The exposed foundations

Quality of light

Through these people I flow

We’re all the product of

Emotional projections

I remember when

These pictures meant something

Forgotten scenes but not by me

Or the quality of light

Is it too late yet?