<nurkse's "snapshot from niagra"> 2003-09-02.10:02 p.m. Snapshot from Niagra Dennis Nurkse We'd been married nine days, the war had lasted a year, we'd come to the falls to photograph each other with that roar behind us-- at dusk we asked an old man to take a picture of us embracing, but not too much-- how he fussed with the lenses while we fumed: now, now, while there's still light... Already we resented each other because we'd make us die while alone we were immortal like starlight or the breeze and we were ashamed never to have thanked him-- to be more lonely than ever with a sheaf of glossy prints of two dim faces, woman, man, worn identical by happiness. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad