Your imprint
where you sat, once
has lifted,
your image remaining
unchanging
from pixels pushed into position.
At a distance
you are almost moving
-my eyes slit
I turn my head,
refuse to see you
through periphery’s dynamic lens
unless you shift:
thus, you slide through memory,
as I prefer it.

It is unfortunate
I now see you
lucidly
shadows lending clarity
to that last encounter.