Your Face Alone Remains by Timothy Kleiser
When weeks are spent on what duty ordains
Of me, what occ—knock, knock—upies my mind
Is less like ‘thought’ and more like the blurred kind
Of image a slow shutter speed obtains:
The chican—brrring—ery of reason’s reign
Exposed enough to obscure unconfined
Objects within my view before I wind—
Ding, ding—the film. Your face alone remains
Clear among a sea of bokeh. I wield
This image as my shield to scorn the prey-
ing hands of time, but if the coup de grâce
Should burst, please tell my duties they may
Bury me in this shallow depth of field
Where I may live again to see your face.
