Fading

She volunteered,
while paging through
my images of snow,
to throw away the out-of-focus ones.
"Like this tree," she said,
"it's barely recognizable."
But I stubbornly resisted,
knowing it was shot
from a speeding car
through a wet window
and a storm;
knowing I could see it,
even if my camera could not.

This may well be the shape
-- as my eyes grow dim with age --
of things to come;
of all that I will come to know
and will no longer have the tools
or the words
or even an urge
to share...