Exposure

for Henry

Exposure

for Henry

Loss makes time slippery, opening a shutter

on a low-lit sky. When did

two moose eat the garden? Before the

floodwaters surged, spinning homes.

Before he fell like a streaked star

and exited the frame.

In the garden, between bitten stems and

mirror-moon tracks, half-earthed 

potatoes rise. Tugging one loose

purpled, free

leaves a spud-shaped cast, raw and 

unaltered—a truth. Every life

leaves a shape. His was a garden

without fences, a wide-ranging track.

Tree-tall and owl-met

gravel-worn and river-lit

he sought a world

in a balanced frame. 

The shutter closes. Potato sacks fill. Families 

arrive, storm-swept. What will balance 

mean now? Every natural system 

seeks it, exposes it—raw and unaltered

as when light hits film

shaping life, over time.