Image as Foothold

"I have been," I said, one afternoon in Union Square, "admiring your hat."

She laughed. She turned. She smiled. I lifted my camera, and she did not protest.

Now she's always here, and without the photograph, I'd have forgotten the best details. She'd be vapor and sense, a vague wasn't there once?

The more I write, the older I get, image is my foothold.