Shared Arc

The photograph, corners curled and brown,

my father, younger, in a distant town.

Beside him, a boy, about my age back then,

a stranger's face, yet known again.

His upper lip, that gentle curve,

a flicker in my stomach, a sharp nerve.

It mirrored mine, a perfect line,

a sudden echo, a shared design.

Dust motes danced in the faded frame,

a quiet question, whispering a name.

Another part, unseen, unheard,

held tight within a single word.