Proof

Not one picture,
through thick and dark
passage of self-
sabotage, neither candid
nor ordained, a year
obscured, turned blue
bluffing— 

and then you, 
within minutes,
after laughing 
at our broken bodies,
caught me on tape
driving, distracted,
not present in the way
I would have liked
to present myself,
but after all that
time not
seen—

you produced
proof
that we were
enjoying
ourselves.

That we were present.