Found footage, a blue filter
to distinguish night
from its counterpoint.
That these black-and-
white flicker cycles
could be finite, she’s beginning
to see how
the distinction will snap
away, all filters exposed
without purpose, no farewell
or final letter to the moon
and everything it contains. A private explosion
without a witness, her evening
will come.
She walks deserted streets. Not the real
you, but one
she’s been fabricating
with rope, leftover images
from an old black-and-white
film. She believes in
rewind, fast forward,
long pauses. The sun
reveals gray
in all its shades—romance
along a wave length,
a particle spinning
and at rest.
She has no way
of knowing where you are,
what you might be
doing in this moment.
Only hopes
you’re in it,
touching something
more real than this
creation that dissolves
under the light.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 