Less, you think, and it was
Nowhere to turn but ahead
That body lies deep under
In the rising sap are clues
Identity remains undone
The camera picks up your face
But it is not you it grasps
It does not even look like you
The artist caught your identity
and scribbled it down in 2B density
smudging such distinctions
that picked you out
now you are one of them
never seen every word a record
in a lead lined storeroom
locked away for all time.
Nicholas Alexander's Poetry