What motives have we but our mythologies?
Places of substance where we invest our dreams
paradigms of vision in secret elaborations.
These photographs speak much less now
of what they became, the making of them more.
If dark exist of itself
how does light find beauty,
beneath a beast’s smoking hands?
or a social enterprise of style and lust, art and sale?
All assaults are one of creation
Where desire controls the shadows.
Ineffable answers on lips
the most delicate hand cannot draw,
the most sensitive emulsion cannot capture.
But the comfort in these photographs
of sisters, daughters, strangers and lovers
Invents in me a belief that what I have made in love,
Love as made of me.