A photograph is not a mirror,

but a manifold.

Bodies refracted across planes,

an entropy of gesture.

Identity does not hold,

it flickers,

Layered and dissolving -

whole in its dispersal.

Exposure is a beaker,

where burns desire -

fear lingers,

presence thickens.

Frame fixes constellations,

energy smoulders,

slow collapse -

threshold breached.

Enter space

where clarity tides.

Empathy breathes,

not in certainty -

in the ghost, the residual,

in the shimmer of becoming.