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At The Photographer's Opportunity
[for Shane, extraordinary photographer]
Just tank tops and sheer, off-black pantyhose
(the kind with reinforcements at the toes;
shoeless) were all we wore by way of clothes.
We spent that summer, sunlit Saturday
relaxing. Meanwhile, his photography
(beyond the reach of crude perversity)
recorded this, without requiring pose
or any kind of script to guide our play.
We whacked some balls around in lawn croquet;
then, later, waded in the shallow pool
(it seemed a really hot way to keep cool---
wet nylons and all that); with no intrusion
of his lens. When the session reached conclusion,
the images, developed, seemed to be
like glimpses of ideal reality
(as Plato---I think---once described it). We
were changed, by his art, into poetry.
