50 Photos

Fifty years is at least half a life
     more than half the decades we were apart,
Our images remain locked inside our 20s
     those people will forever reside there.

Humidity and cheap beer,
     heat and cheaper wine,
wear a hat with curled edges,
     it serves as camo for the mind,

For the first time we had nowhere to be,
     no due dates, calendars, or curfews
to limit the time we craved

103 degree days ended deep into the night
     they became 95 degree days that begun
deep into the early hours

I regret very little but wish I'd spent more time with my hosts
     Lost in this biblical purgatory,
where ashes stained my boots and hymns swirled in the still air,
     I carved icons from swollen hands, bronze fingers that held
a kitten with care, and ice that gave life to everything.

Once I carried a watermelon to the pews
     of a church that welcomed anyone who could find
the threshold, anyone who could lift a voice,

Five decades have covered the raw earth,
     the sheltered village, and the souls of overgrown
cemeteries,
The photographs have done their job.