Where do deleted pictures go?

i select
a handful of pictures 
of me & you--

you don't love
me anymore but
you did 
in this picture--
i kiss your cheek--
the world is 
made of pixels
i turn-- i turn
i turn to kiss your
cheek-- we are made
of lights

i needed more
space on my phone
so i let us go--
& now i can't remember
what necklace i was
wearing or if
your hair was wet 
from a shower
did it smell like
lavender or
rosehips?

i follow them
(the pictures
i deleted)
i trace their 
foot steps up 
the beach in Wildwoof
it's October &
the mist off the ocean
is cool 
the sunset is full of
leaves 

i dip my feet in
the water where
the foot prints
end
i ask some
bird watchers 
if they've seen
a handful of
pictures that i deleted
off my iphone 
& they seem puzzled
as if they've 
never tracked 
a photograph 
before

i keep walking
i go under the surf--
breath salt water
& check the bellies
of the horseshoe crabs--
their ancient bodies--
their blue blood
they haven't seen
my pictures

i go to the stream--
over turn stones-- 
speak to crayfish
(who all find humans
to be quite irrational
to be hunting so desperately
for an image of themself)
Narcissus narcissus 
they whisper

i tell the crayfish
it's more than that
it's a memory--

it's a memory 

i forget how
it felt to be
so full of light
bulbs-- so full
of birthday cake
icing

how did you get
me to eat a whole
slice of the
cheesecake moon?
fresh black berries in
our hair

oh i loved you

sitting on the 
back step 
night falls 
like an armful of
books on my desk

i double check behind
library cards--
between flyleaf pages--
all the places i would hide 

i look up briefly
& there is 
a new moon

i stand up to
ask God if he keeps
them &
i'm surprised when
he drops down
a rope ladder 
for me to climb up

up there every cloud
is buzzing with
my old pictures--
gummy worm smiles
ice cream
sundaes 
blurry 
foot ball game lights
my head rested 
on your chest
a bright caterpillar
with a map of
the stars written
on his back

the angels sort--
carry box after box--
pouring them to 
make up the clouds

he (in his sweater
& corduroy pants)
points to a box sitting
alone

the picture of us
is on top

i'm not wearing a 
necklace

your hair smells like
lavender