AS THEY ARE
Every one of these happened in whatever light was already there: a street, a doorway, an afternoon. What changes from frame to frame isn't the light. It's whether the person knew I was looking.
Lamine Yamal: gold chain, gold watch, and a flag held higher than either.
He looked up mid-wash like the camera was the interruption he'd been hoping for.
The cab was already moving. He turned around anyway.
The hands came up before I asked a single question.
Gone before the shutter finished deciding.
The leash is hers. The gesture is entirely its own.
Balance is just falling slowly enough to call it a trick.
Every word left before the rain did.