Something Old As New (Revision 2c)

[alonso ramoran]

Hey danny, 

Lots to like here. I haven't read the other critiques, so forgive me if I'm repeating comments already made.

Revision 2 (Thank you Richard, Knott, vagabond) Title may change. Still open to thoughts on the poem.

Something Old As New

We'd shoot old houses Simple yet strong start. I get the sense of having all the time in the world, made of use in the face of things (old houses) whose time ran out. 
in bright winter sun,
tips of frail branches almost
touching the remaining panes.

Glistening yellow grass crunched. Not sure dead grass "glistens"
We found angles from the border of trees,
kneeled and wet our jeans,
framed the crooked porch, I'd put an "and" at the beginning of this line
weathered door and quiet road.

Cheeks flush, short hair curled
around your ears. Whose cheeks are flushing here? This sentence reads choppy imo and could use some reordering.
Our breath vanished quickly. I like this line.

Your careful hands touched the old door. Maybe reorder as "Your hands touched the old door carefully." This could allow some room for another adjective on "hands"
I focused there, rotating the lens: I like these following three lines.
chipping white paint
and your fingertips in the light.

We never got inside,
only looked through I'd omit "through" and use another word in place of "looked"
into dark rooms, I feel like you could do better than just "dark rooms"

then climbed a sycamore to the lower roof
to be sun-warmed by the chimney I would replace "by" with "beside" to avoid confusion.
under a single telephone wire
that hasn't carried a voice in years. Great line.

But if it was speaking now, 
it would talk of pleasant company comma
and our careful steps, omit "and"
and our whispering, omit "and"

and our sitting hunched together
as I took your hands,
cupped them in mine,
gently blew inside. add an "and" lol. Otherwise a lovely finish

Revision 1:

Something Old As New

In bright winter sun we
would shoot old houses,
tips of frail branches almost
touching the window glass.

Yellow, frozen grass
crunched under our feet.
Our cold fingers
found the buttons of our cameras.

We found angles from the border of trees,
kneeled and wet our knees,
framed the crooked porch,
weathered door and quiet street.

Cheeks flush, short hair curled
around your ears.
Our breath vanished quickly.

We never got inside,
only looked through
into dark rooms,

then took a sycamore to the roof
to be sun-warmed by the chimney
under a single phone wire
that hasn't carried a voice in years.

But if it was speaking now,
it would talk of pleasant company
and our careful steps,
and our whispering,

and our sitting hunched together
as I took your hands,
cupped them in mine,
and gently blew inside.


Original:

Something Old as New

In the sun in wintertime we
would shoot old houses,
red shutters,
tips of frail branches almost
touching the window glass.

Yellow, frozen grass
crunched under our footsteps.
Our fingers were cold,
found the buttons of our cameras.

We found angles from the shadows of trees,
kneeled and wet our knees,
framed the quiet streets
that ran through the town.

Cheeks flush, short hair curled
around your ears.
Our breath vanished quickly.

Your careful hands touched the old door.
I focused in closely,
magnifying the chipping white paint
and your fingertips in the light.

We never got inside,
only looked through windows
into dark rooms.

We took a sycamore to the roof
to be sun-warmed by the chimney
under a single phone wire
that hasn't carried a voice in years.

Hunched together in that small angled place
I took your hands,
cupped them in mine,
and blew inside.

As for the title, I have no problems with it. I would actually be happy if you kept it. 
I very much look forward to seeing the final product.

Good luck with it, Alex