a photo cannot capture
the flavor of the air on the breeze
the scent of sweet pollen in the air
the moon, ever, because it’s just that ethereal
nor the feel of cool water on the tongue
nor the sound of hundreds of aspen leaves clapping

a poem cannot capture
the scope of all that is contained in
a sweeping gaze gaze in a single pass over the landscape
it cannot capture the way he gazed at you when you were busy
gazing across the water
nor can it capture any form of reality,
only what you observe to be so

And even to try to mesh the two pieces–
the machine eye and the organic brain–
would cause them to be at such odds that
you can’t help but suggest that
perhaps its time we spent some time apart

to find ourselves again