Nick’s Photograph of Jeff, Me, and Arlene

The grass is white, a void we could slip into
if we stepped back. The leaves are gray fires.
The open picnic basket, cartons of milk,
people standing wordlessly in a field—
nothing explains why it is like this.
You wear a stained hunting jacket from a time
when you went crazy and needed a hobby.
You look angry because you fear being alone.
You worry about how not to be eaten
by the suspicions of love. In this outing
everyone is facing the camera, a thermos
leans into the light’s edge, and no one knows
what drew us here on a wet summer day.