I am searching for a likeness in the photograph;
trying to suggest a question to the square’s grey tones –
but every edge is black and white; even your hair’s subtle
waves are as pronounced as the craggy rocks behind your head.
Perhaps there is something familiar in the broad forehead,
but this is not your smile. Your cheeks were not these apples
where the lips end. Your legs might have been thinner once,
your shoulders may well have carried less, your hips
would still have been your own. All this is possible –
but these shaded eyes, albeit squinting in the sun, betray you,
that and the wide open space below, the smile-filled skin.