Here is the oldest person you will ever know,
stretching through all your callow years.
Shadowing the small locked doors, recesses
of memory reach down toward the youngest known.
Stretching through all your callow years
the presence of the eldest, whatever they have told you
of their memory, reaches down toward the youngest known
by you, you pass this age to childhood, and on.
The presence of the eldest, whatever they have told you is
reimagined through your life, given to other ears
by you. You pass this age to childhood, and on.
This is not history, it is time itself, spoken.
Reimagined through your life, given to other ears,
this is the only recourse to particular past. You know
this is not history, it is time itself, spoken.
The speechless photograph gives voice: the dead speak here.
This is the only recourse to a particular past, you know.
Shadowing the small locked doors, recesses
the speechless photograph gives voice to: the dead speak here.
Here is the oldest person you will ever know.