Steichen
Old Steichen was
Losing his mind
Never knowing
Once in time past
It was him who made
The memories last
By some quirk in the
Wheel with every third
Revolution it would click
Akin to a sound distant
He vaguely recalled
Some days when Steichen
Was in a good frame of mind
He would click the wheels
Like a motor winder
Not pausing or even
Contemplating direction
Other days in more the
Pensive melancholic mood
He would slowly click then
Look
Look then click the wheel
Smiling at the capturing
A foot entering the frame
An orderly passing
The pattern of shadow on
Carpet
It was the unknown click
In that wheel that kept
Steichen from totally
Becoming lost in this
Place.
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