On the other side
of the tracks,
row on disorganized row,
orange trees grow,
shadowed by rain threatening clouds,
silver chain linked fingers
reaching for the dark against the sky.
I thought to capture it with a photo,
a quick snap,
to store in time,
the finite and temporary moment
of Now,
0.5 seconds ago.
Too late it is gone,
a mere disintegrating and
degenerating memory, particle by
memory particle.
Decomposed into neurological
dust blown fading into
nothing.
Would a picture have been any different?
