In the Picture

Your hands are holding

a bouquet of yellow flowers

or the flowers are fake.

Or the picture

is in black-and-white

and you have dropped the flowers

to take a picture of the woman

someone carved

on the way back from a beach

whose sand is green.

There was a fire.

The sky burned black

so we drove to a beach

whose sand was black

and your legs rose. The back

of your right hand

supported your chin,

while the smile you gave

rotted every tooth–

cracked every lens.

Or maybe, made me laugh.

In the picture

you are either wearing a hat

that was stolen

or lying on the trunk

of a fallen tree. To imagine

that the tide may have brought it in.

To imagine

that a storm bore it here.