The Shot

The Shot

Sometimes the camera loves you: lines of light
form poetry of their own before your eyes
and capture in image all you thought to write,

and like the poet tracking all his thoughts
across the page and screen, your well-timed shots
preserve forever what your mind has caught:

in the golden-hour glow you long for those
who’ll read and heed the images you’ve shown,
and find their mind connecting with your own.

Bear with me. I’m still lingering on my first look,
the depth of field unknown, an empty notebook.
The exposure might kill me yet. These things take work,

and there’s still so much to learn, so much to know.
But so far the light from dawn is shining so
and in no danger yet of letting go.

This poem © Oliver Tearle 2022