SEEING, KNOWING

I didn’t know what to look at;
the dripping woman who tempted my lips,
or the old man who tempted my dreams,
or the deep black that tempted my fear.

I rotated the photograph, this way,
then that, flipped it over, still
I didn’t know what to look at;
like voyeuring a naked neighbour, undecided
about what to ogle the longest, or receiving
an anticipated letter, and not knowing
what to read first, or watching the evening news,
and not knowing when to stop crying.

And then I saw it –
the creator’s fingerprint,
the photographer’s breath,
and I could see no more,
only hear.