Homage to Alfred Stieglitz

The address of the equivalent
is in the cloudy mind though also
“out there.” You must face it.
One bush, a thousand faces.
So there is also camera-work in love.
So there is also work.

But the mind wants to dwell on the body.
In New England, in winter, in long ago,
the faces of evil
were seen, severally, by hard-working
settlers though cold suited them.
The truth would set them on fire.

Once, in a field of vision,
we were acting without persistence,
and in a room with one light let
the buffeted optics of beauty
into my camera. The idea was dizzying:
I could never expose you enough.