He took a picture by the trees A woman turning from the light Her coat was red, her face was still The afternoon was almost night In silver dust, in chemical rain A shape appeared behind her eyes He leaned in close to find the truth But truth had learned how to disguise Blow it up, make it clear Bring the hidden thing near But the closer that he came The more the world became a flame The photograph lied Or maybe it knew A shadow can hide Inside something true He saw what he saw Then watched it divide Was there blood in the grass Or had the photograph lied She came at midnight to his room With London rain across her hair “Give me the film,” she softly said As if your seeing makes it fair He poured the wine, she touched the wall The negatives began to burn She whispered, “Some doors open once And some eyes never can return.” Blow it up, make it clear Bring the hidden thing near But the closer that he came The more the world became a flame The photograph lied Or maybe it knew A shadow can hide Inside something true He saw what he saw Then watched it divide Was there blood in the grass Or had the photograph lied In the park, the morning came No body, no woman, no name Only birds and empty green Only proof of what had been The photograph lied Or maybe it prayed A ghost in the light A truth half-made He sang what he saw Then lost it inside Was he holding the world Or had the photograph lied
