Moment in Grain

A black-and-white corner,

a street alive in blur and shadow.

Faces melt like rain—

one figure sharp against the rush.

Edges brittle, creased, fading,

a slip of time caught in halftones.

The photograph falls to the floor,

a ghost of a day half-remembered.

The figure’s eyes caught in motion,

a fragment caught between breaths,

the city’s pulse paused,

a moment that no one else holds.

I stare, the noise folding away,

a memory keyed to this grainy light,

a thing remembered only

because the photograph chose to keep it.