Poem from a Photograph (for Adam David Miller)

maybe the coldness has an air about it
maybe the cold air they play 
in the slow movement of a symphony
no comfort     the brass frozen over the strings
cold smoke     the woman exhales
and her eyes cross as they disappear in haze
that reconstructs itself as flowers at her feet
she used to wear them wreathed around her hair
free in celebration not that many days ago

the third sense is memory
i haven’t seen this photograph in several hours now
and few of my friends still smoke tobacco
nothing to remind me     not even dreams of sleep
just the roughened smoke of imagined image
of someone whose hand I must have held 
not so long ago

from Oedipus' First Lover (2009)