I had a vision that someday
I was going to figure out where to go next
and be memorable in my own distinct way

But I have the need
to preserve the past,
the beautiful past
filled with stories
about noise, offices, buildings;
glorious New York.
And Dad.

He taught me
That our fingerprints don’t fade from the lives we touch.
When it seems the possibility of his resurrection
has effectively ended,
and time is keeping me in September of Two Thousand and One
I find an old photograph of the city,
its edges blessed with fingerprints,
and I smile.

The memories placed in a photograph,
a thousand captured words,
sit in the palm of my aging hand,
as I take my turn.