Still-Shot Souvenirs : A Poem

You handed them to me in an envelope,
Which I opened under the soft glow of a hotel lamp,
And once home tacked them on cork above the bed;
Still-shot souvenirs of a time growing distant.

Two years have passed and they’re peeling now,
Like cherry blossom peeling into contrailed skies,
Above the park where daisy-chain rings
Passed palms…