At the start of my 70th year I bought the latest camera,
a startling, surreal machine, not easily transported
but one which, at the push of the shutter,
“photographs” in bas relief to a depth of some few inches,
contours to scale, then amazingly, adds subtle colors and texture.
Whatever the viewfinder sees is rendered faithfully in depth.

This happens by extruding an almost invisible film
upon which crystalline liquid instantly dries
sculpting the subject, however fine, however far,
followed by overprinting in colored and textured inks.
Obviously it was not cheap but, so close to death, I do not skimp.

I want to have the best and latest means to record life
in any way; to have, at my fingertips, before my old eyes
roughness of brick and city water towers, clematis, sunflowers,
loved ones before they change.

So at his request I posed her in the theatrical throne
we keep for friends who have less room and
costumed her in brocade and heavy jewels.

Arranged a strong side light, anticipating eagerly
the richness of it, the magic rendering of threads, hairs,
cabochons, granulation: the mole, those first endearing
wrinkles at the eyes you’d hardly notice otherwise.

While he paced behind, disbelieving he could have an image
so nearly representing what he’s denied. Every lover,
wise enough, would want as much: we know not love
nor anything lasts undiminished.

Anyway, I digress, I do!
Because I’d avoid the rest.

Finished, it was stunning.
I pictured it framed, as these are, in a shadow box
of hinged glass, opening so that tactile reproduction values
can be accessed.

As fine as they are they are brittle, too,
and need protection.

So, when she left – my home, his life –
I assumed we’d wrap it and he’d carry it away
to grieve over as we all have over images of loss.

Instead he kissed it, stroked the tinted face,
the hair then hurled it down and bolted.

Should I have been as shocked? In retrospect, not:
I’ve destroyed what I loved and collateral too, irrevocably.

But when, weeks later, he called asking for a copy
it was too late. There are neither negatives nor files.

I keep the shards and slivers in a lidded casket
and cut my fingers on what remains.