There's nothing imagined in a photo
Not the real Lake Lucerne I imagined
We crossed to get to the 15th century
So cold I had to keep walking
Or temporarily freeze in place
On the shore the old churches of desire
And a story-book of ghosts waiting for us
But we keep moving snapping
Pictures of what we would soon forget
And have to re-imagine years later
Through the memory of these pictures
Each one a calendar shot
And yes we were actually there
What felt like coming back
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