If I could just stop
to put you in a frame,
to capture the light around you,
to glorify and rhapsodize you
in exactly the way that you were meant to be seen,
apart from the grime and glitter of the washed up
then I would get down on bended knee
right here in the middle of the street
to take the picture.
But who will believe in it?
Am I the only witness?
I will simply watch