A picture on the wall,
creates an ambience.

As we dine my family and I,
reflecting on another year,
an anniversary of our marriage.

The people in the photograph,
on the wall,
coloured in sepia tones,
stare smiling at an image trapper.
As the wood pulp paper turns rusty red,
their images slowly crumble.

Who were these individuals?
A caption reads “Toronto Golfers 1920.”
That fragment of their lives,
now becomes a fragment of ours.

We are all but particles,
falling through a funnel in time.
But whose illusion will close the door,
to be remembered only in their memory?