The photograph


When I look at an old photograph,
I see old friends
boasting blue and white robes,
with mortar boards perched upon their heads,
looking into the camera’s conscious eye of the past.

You can hear the voices of congratulations
of parents and teachers,
and the timeless buzzing of the creatures of spring that have awakened
so joyfully,
inviting you into the picture.

And once again,
You can smell the sweet air of honey blossoms that permeated the scene,
as it fills your mind with the afternoon heat
and the sense of anticipation about the night that would  be soon to follow.

In my hand are just chemicals on paper,
but the sound is audible and the scent is vivid
and I have my moment back,
like magic.