Photograph of a Traveler
In the picture, we don’t see the window.
We see the rising wall, the upward gaze.
We see the stair’s abrupt end, the ways
the sun plays the camera’s whip-light snap-show.
When he climbs, the white aura will follow
his body, a knowing ghost that calls and stays,
the quiet glow of what drove him to stray
from ground to skies of white cranes and crows.
We need to have seen his eyes to know the doves
they hide, the whisper-worlds sewn by his hands.
What color, what weight, what life did he dream
of finding? Back home in the windows above
his city, the ceiling-splayed light, taut cream
flowers. In the picture, we don’t see him land.
Benjamin Brezner received his MFA in Creative Writing from George Mason University, where he received the 2017 Outstanding Graduate Student Award and the Mary Roberts Rinehart Award for Poetry. His work has been published or is forthcoming in Whiskey Island, DistrictLit, The Camel Saloon, and Eunoia Review. He recently moved from Washington, DC to Toronto, ON with his wife and cats. He occasionally blogs at benbrezner.wordpress.com and Tweets @benbrezner.