Rickety jittering ancient flick
one time by my dad with old kodak
made way back in fifty-six shows

scenic semidecrepit indescript old
maids side by side
in rowboat wearing baggy black
smiling eyeless
from beneath broad hats not far from rocky scotchpine
shore of lake at oldtime resort.

Then a film lacuna occurs
and they’re seen again in grinning
glee rowing rapidly like children
in slowmoving twirl compared to straightline voyage away before this hiatus
of recording came.

The who and the when within this ten
second clip split by an instant
were always complete unknowns yet
smiling to camera seemed completely unknown too to them as was twirling in boat
like slowmo ride as if
by carnival self imposed

At time and place when rare fun and games
meant dutiful waves and smiles at strangers like carriaged ladies in parades in
horseclop’s quieting hint
of silence holding gap between
noisy brass of redclad marching bands.

Or the odd discomfit space between
Rylant’s movements two and three
of his opaque last symphony
of aught eight, e minor opus
forty-seven, that misconstrued
silent nontransition betwixt
adagio and allegretto
wedged in by double allegro
of unmarked unremarkably
sustueno, making you wish the
unseen Bruggite Joseph Victor
had remained the relentless
unradiant Rylent thus renowned
for silence without motion as
lacunish smooth as canalish ooze.

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