Camera Obscura as Self-Portrait

An image stutters in the aperture.
I clear my throat. A molasses-like
darkness. An image swims
in the aperture. I reach out to touch it:
a blue-ish white. I stutter in the aperture.
I want to say: love. Instead, I say:
I don’t know. I say instead: Love,
I don’t know. I only see a polished metal,
an inverted image. A toilet paper roll
and a shoebox might have worked
just as well. My image swells
in the aperture. Oh well, who can tell
anything? Anything, I will make do
with anything. Suck the world in
through a tiny hole, project it
onto cardboard. Or press an eye
against glass. Yes, glass. I meant
to say glass, but stammer alas, alas.
A transparent grief shimmers
in the aperture. I clear my throat,
push syllables into the light.
I glimpse my image and mutter:
we look nothing alike.