You see the light
caught in passing,
captured on film and here
reconstituted, reborn,
the light, the dark,
the colors recreated,
reality mimed by pixels
on your monitor screen.

You see the ghost
of a moment that was.
You see the light,
and fancy it my face.
Yet it is but the shadow
of a shadow—a mask
worn for a millisecond,
and then discarded
into the amnesiac depths
of time.

This rebirth
of a past appearance
is no true resurrection—
the man is not gone,
nor is he before you.
Yet, by this sliver
of the departed past,
hooked forward
out of time's ocean,
you yet might know me
should we meet.