(After Wendell Berry)

Once there was a man who filmed his existence.
He went collecting his stories in selfies,
with a smartphone to his fingers, making
a gallery of the finest images life brought him,
of the places and faces his clicks could find
in the busy and fleeting world around him. He recorded
himself in the selfie, which preserved his body,
freezing it forever: a body’s gait and graces,
And blingy necklaces; the forced smiles of a skillful artist
holding a selfie stick to capture on camera
the many moments of the life he was having
so that he may document for himself
the passing moments of today in a selfie
he may never have in the future. With hands
swiping swirling photos on tablet screens,
there he will be, staring at himself
in moments gained but lost: there he will be,
even if he doesn’t recognize himself.