That black and white shot

I remember that black and white shot.
Sunny day,
Cherry trees in the laces of blossom,
the cherry-fall spray.
Glorious spring in full bloom, 
as tranquil as it can be in May.
And a girl in a polka-dot dress,
With blond hair in plaits, 
with her legs dangling free,
saddling bravely a branch of the tree,
smiling happily right for the camera.
It illustrates
the resistance of images,
making time slow its pace.

Can I fly back to that day?
Is it the lace
or the veil of my memories?
The embrace
is as tight
as my dad used to hold me.
I jumped in delight
into his hugs, straight from the tree.
I remember so bright –
I turned nine, I was happy, naive…
And my dad was alive, he took photos…
 
I don’t want to leave
the luminous site in my dream,
in my heart, in my mind,
bringing me back to the stream,
to the roots.
Let me bind
all the ropes into the knot.
Put the seeds
into my memory pot.
Let me do it.
Oh, please…

2018