After a friend’s funeral, I went through some of his papers

and found an old Polaroid with you in the background.

Life had not yet left you alone with your vacant stare,

a white wall before you, plain and empty.

In the photo, your eyes were still alive,

your mind still searching for perfection.

But this was before the plaques and tangles

married hidden neurons, unwilling spouses

in your mind’s household.

I remembered the setting – we were all camping

in old pup tents, remnants of a past war,

cooking over an open fire,

singing songs from our childhood.

You were standing behind another camper who

crouched next to the fire,

and as the camera’s lens clicked open

you turned your head, as if following a bird’s call.

The picture of your face,

slightly blurred by the movement,

left your smile

alone where it has been ever since.