'What a poor craftsman I am
What a poor craftsman I am,'
cried Leopold the monster.
'No matter how hard I try...
     how hard and long I try..
her face...
   it runs away
       it runs away with my fingers
in this basin of water

or glass of wine.

Photos...where are the
yellowed chewed up photos..
bright kodak shrines
torn to bits

scraps
     showing
 in the dark

roundness around the mouth


a flash of white hand

soft knuckle

sad, brown, sleepy eyes

belonging to whom?'
cried Leopold the monster.

'What a poor craftsman I am!

my old hands whirl so long
they dissolve in water
yet cannot remember