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Description
It happened like sepia, over fields
of grain and un-fixed photos:
the white-wild hair she was known for
dissolved in light and now she peers from
a dull mass like line theory,
all frames and thirds and off-center parts
like amateur naturescapes that litter the floors of darkrooms.

It was there she lost her God.

She had an image in her mind like the black spots
on old film, so there and tangible
and something she could learn to love,
grasp at those nights she needed something real
or unchanging at the very least.

But he stripped her down to negative,
and the view was cold in rippling developing trays
darkening and losing the clarity and contrast
she had when she was seven and in love with the blank
of glossy and pearl, filtered so smooth and vestal.