Pictures, or it didn’t happen?

I don’t show strangers photos
to prove where I have been –
my word should be enough
or, clearly, they’re no friend to me.

Photos may jog the memory,
lead to contemplation –
sadly, this has been replaced
by over-documentation.

Who can truly know a place,
find out what makes it tick,
whilst framing a self-portrait
on a damn selfish selfie stick?

No photograph can capture
a hawk’s weight on my wrist,
the crackle of logs burning,
the awesome hush of an eclipse,

the chill wind from an iceberg,
the splash of whales at play,
the warmth of a sleeping love
at the end of a perfect day.

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