Caught in time.
Captured and imprisoned
in plastic envelops.
Here are the fossiled tracks
of my tribe in a paper midden.
Once glossy and bright
now faded and dull.
Eroded by time
and eye balling.
Here is history frame by frame.
Resurrection on command.
This is Houdini's crossing
from the other side.
And the old Sioux were right
a soul is so captured.
Warm fire and mellow music
and time for a reunion.
They are all there
and some I can't name.
There are smiles
that don't hurt to hold.
Cars and clothes
now museum pieces,
contrasted with timeless youth.
And it is July 4, 1937 forever.
Mother, young forever
and that trophy trout smells
as fresh as they day I caught it.
Sun and shadow acid etched in hillsides.
Trees leaves that never drop.
I have a time machine
to make all of this.
With requests to say:"cheese"
and the click of immorality
the young are initiated into the tribe.
Posed with the things of our time,
they take their place in the time slice.
Layer after layer
new residents are collected.
The record of human geology
laid to be read
on winter's evening.