Picture Perfect Memories
I open an album. Ray yaks under my
eyelids, as I run from my
Korean heritage to a place where oysters
and olives insist I open my eyes.
I touch moonlight,
one finger trailing, following
the wooden beam and rocking timber
underneath my weight
a memory long forgotten.
I clutch round orbs, whispering,
stay with me, swallow Naples
with a single gargle as you light
my path. Smile your auto-focus.
When I do, I see an image of my father
working on a new canoe and
I fear no more.