by Jim Farfaglia
I felt like royalty, owning one.
Like I alone had been chosen to decide
what was best forgotten
and what should instantly remain.
So I’d raise that black box with both hands,
look out at the world with a good eye
then out would slide a square of darkness,
all murky and mysterious,
untouchable ‘til it dried.
And I’d watch the world come into focus,
witnessing a moment already gone by,
believing it was all in my hands to capture it.