Transparency | Lily Brown

Branches press flat on glass.
Down the street, semaphores.

Heavy jugs of light
judder at crossroads

close to elegant until a picture 
points them out.

All day I splinter leaves
with my feet, conduct them 

in, singed flags.
I think I see you in the back window,

waving there, your show moving 
west then east.

The photos so dramaturgical.
Torso turns to see

how great a distance I earned
to make

(Source: theoffendingadam.com)