Brittle echoed kiss that quickened our Ebbing cycle, see what you set stirring! Drowsy album stretching, snapshots whirring, Each face just as flat as book-pressed flower.
Every face we once as photo fondled, Wakes in three dimensions and is singing. Now we know how dozing clay was kindled By one warm Was of Word inthebeginning.
Old photographs turn up, and something wakes. The speaker addresses a "brittle echoed kiss," a faint trace of past affection, and marvels at what it has set in motion: the album stretches like someone waking from sleep, the snapshots whir, and faces that were pressed flat as dried flowers begin to move and sing in three dimensions.
What stands out is the speaker's wonder. There's no sadness about time passing here, just astonishment at how memory can restore life to what seemed finished. The second stanza widens the idea. Faces once only fondled as pictures now live, and the speaker compares this to the creation of humans from clay, kindled "by one warm Was of Word inthebeginning." That odd squeezed-together phrase suggests the Biblical opening, but with a twist: "Was" turns the past itself into a creative force. The mood is hushed, delighted, almost reverent, as if remembering were a small act of creation.