Memory is a shot of stillness sealed behind a lens
that looks for what cannot be seen until it’s been frozen
by the frame.
Some see this as a season of rust and ruin and running
while I see a freedom in this fall and in every breeze
another breath to breathe brave into this body.
I will hang you on other walls, in other seasons
and you will hear me sing other songs to other suitors.
It doesn’t mean we never had our summer,
only that our spring was too short to be anything other
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.
This month is about looking back so as to move on. A goodbye to Paris.