The more elusive the truth, the more carefully it must be carried. (Anne Michaels)
 
In the photos she is dancing on the wide pink
steps of a French cathedral under sun, black elms.
She is scanning the film on her dad’s Apple Mac.
He is standing on one side, you’re leaning on
the other. Beyond, through his open window’s
the valley you woke to year after year, before green
became variegated, was one plain thrill.
She un-slings her arms, says family hug meaning as
in the albums (sand, lake, tent – the way things once held).
Her arms inveigle the two of you to her.
Her arms are the frequency current flies through.