Picture Frame - a Poem The dusk before night appears. After a day of warmth, bellowing wind and the bare naked trees without leaves and crumpling flowers on the frigid boughs holding on to the dear life as it recedes from the disappearing memories of balmy spring. Rummaging through old photo albums of days fade out color, smudging corners of decaying picture frames, brings back those laughter loud and alive, those faces and eyes no longer in visible spectrum of this glorious world. As dusk turns into a night, the sliver of broken moon glows the tiny speckles of icicles on the metallic roofs of parked cars on the street, while the dark alleys and the rows of neat slumbering houses prepare for a long wintry night of dreamless sleep. I wrote this poem after getting inspired reading the following prosy poem of Raymond Carver. His internal rhyming, the brilliance in musical devices that this writer of immense talent wrote, is beyond my rudimentary poetic ability a