Virginia Woolf, July 1902

You know, Ginia,

                             that’s what your dad called you,

I could knock you off your feet if l had to.

Do I want to ... ha-ha,

on off-days staring through that leaded upstairs window

at those rolling foaming sweeping waves

with only hints of echoings

overlooking St Ives Bay

as I catch you in a state of rêverie,

for all those hours past, those decades even, separating us.

Simply no way reaching back in time in reaching you,

rewriting history even.

Well, that’s not true.

There are many many dreams between 4 & 6 bewitching you

& me. Had I not told you?

Any one of them you’ve appeared suddenly.

“Astonish me!”

And you’ve astonished me

in that nearly full-profile

you’ve given me as with all of you,

as suddenly you turn away

at that undecisive moment

when the snapshot clicked immortalizing you,

but never meaning to.

“Ginia, where are you, darling?”

Sometimes a picture reveals far more past

that instant of distracted revelation.

I can touch you on the neck, how’s that?!

That swansdown neck parfumed,

shouldered by that soft white linen smock.

And so I breathe in deep

and hold it all ... well, not all,

the way you’ve held that pose, then let it go.

I’m always photographing you & jostling with you.

I’ve yet to let you laugh,

but I’ve not shot that shot yet nor now.

Where is now?

You’re too quick for me,

and I for you!

Let’s hold each other’s silences until it’s time to dream & sleep in which to save it all.