The Anti-gravity Tie

Each face dissolves at last to dust

then,
from graven images alone,
the fabled person rises,
elusive jinn of anecdotal lamps,
set smoking by a reminiscing hand.

Dear Grandad dwells in black and white,
his tie,
right angled on stiff breeze,
defies staunch gravity and will,
until the chemicals of capture
release, becoming again

sand.

The sphinx who conjures Pharaoh’s day,
with both paws
weighted by great age,
just like this man and photograph,

will fade,
as a lost amusing moment spent
leaned against a fender, next to Grandma, in the wind.