They didn't really tell us what
this life is about
(how we would gain everything,
how it was all free)

How it would all fade
how we would lose things so precious

(i can't understand how my mother,
is younger than I am now,
in the beautiful black and white photographs)

The softenss of the flowers of her beauty
pierce me gently...
I never really looked at those photographs
til now

Never understood how alive she was
how in love my parents were
how alive and beautiful they were,
in the photos from the 60's and early 70's

She beams like a queen while she's holding me
and I don't understand how I, the infant in the photo
am myself growing old.

Perhaps we will meet again, when
time bends itself around again,
we could laugh in black & white,
My mother and I, the same age,
in some black & white New York cafe...
I'm sure she laughed very
loudly