Forensics

Toronto, Canada

It’s like coming back to a murder

the scene all taped off – the

illusion given that nothing’s altered

the familiar chill, the light, the

noise of night – a specific symphony

but it’s the little things – a

chalk-outline here, the shots

all numbered with neat yellow tags -

each totem sets off rapid-fire

associations to nights and homes

and accents, trigger hits of

eyes and smoke and bodies.

I can’t tell what’s new and old,

the sliver whisp of ‘now’ a greasy

film over played-out vision.

It’s a sepia I could do without

now – too far in – I can’t return

the re-runs and the bleed of new

colours old brass railings

with a patina deep and cold.

I’m unsure then what these fresh

hauntings have accomplished,

whether it’s served only to fuel

a rampant nostalgia or this

strange overlay, an adaptation

of a part life, has blunted the

drive to re-live past lives

and make new indentations in the snow