The Documentarians

We make wide arcs around the children
playing in the surf
tap the little yellow box
of focus
tiny sun
to get the light right
not so much light
that the surf looks washed
cloudy in the shot
we want the background rocks and strangers
correct
not too close, not too busy
I point and tell them where to look
I hold a thumb
to the screen the position tips
the scale of light
on these bodies
(we love them the children
in the photo
their bodies being circled
to get the light right)
we love their acceptance
as we pass
closed playgrounds
juice box straws
buried in bark mulch
lights blinking
on empty sidewalks
we hardly find a door
uncobwebbed
chanting the fuzz
off my mouth one day
in a crowd I want you here
listening to the neighbors
get a little loose
listening to rain drown
the pollen
rain slick on the hides
of small creatures
creatures
we’ve freighted
with meaning all spring
we’ve freighted plot
on something as simple
as what happens
at the birdfeeder
and where
was the president
my child asks
when something bad
happens
hiding sorrow
in profit, I say
probably afraid
yes, very bad
I add
yet
completely worldly
and it was only
one day
how to say
when each lasts
so long
as long as rocks
The Rocks
they are called
in one painting
by Van Gogh
and they do seem
quite specific
when I turn
to see them in the sun