IN THE COMPANY OF CAMERAS

In those light-drenched shots I used to take

Of proper roses flouncing in the gaudy sun,

The picture-perfect summer summarized and done,

As posed and Pollyana as my picky eye could fake,

 

In these spectacular restricted fields of view

Lay unfocused fireworks of fields,

The dark and desperate audience which yields

A different angle than my camera drew,

 

The author¹s message hidden in a blurry whim,

Ter shapes and shadows dying to be seen,

Crowding round the meadow¹s Rembrandt rim,

Of meadows that our photos really mean.