In tribute to the first new moon of the New Year, and all the loved ones we also may briefly have lost sight of:
. . . Camera-in-hand, I stand, watching, waiting, thinking I might capture some long-lost image; that through some magic transformation of the eye, my lens might transpose the house I see before me for the house my father, his father, his father’s father and mother once filled with sound and life. I close my eyes and try to imagine the swell of stringed instruments rising and falling under rosined bows that covered the parlor’s chairs with the fine, soft dust of music. . . .
ghost moon . . .
the three-quarter time
of a lost generation