His memory of them was faint
Especially his father
The moments
Which held them both
Were few
And distorted

Because he tried so hard
To place features
On their bodies
On their faces
Which he just couldn’t recollect
Over time he’d lost
The recollection of the places, too

How odd
That the one crystal clear element
In this one otherwise tortured image
Was the frame shop
Filled with photographs and paintings
Recorded for eternity