What does it seem so far
so far away?
The creased and crumbling photos
muddy faces press back
against one hundred years
like an extinct species of angels.
The hollowed gassed maws of boys
meant to be fishing.
The bloody fingerprints on every
letter home, first to last.
Why does it seem so far
so far beyond us?
And we do commemorate
and in the common rain endlessly
shuffle in remembrance
like remembering will save us
from being in this century’s photos
of the grainy unknowns.