Memory, the mirror,
Taunts her face with shame
Or pity, perhaps, for a girl with a tainted heart
And a pinched smile, an expired laugh,
A youthful look of disdain reflected against
a girl now witting, a girl bound by time.

This time, impenetrable, my hand cannot go beyond
To reach the tips of her’s and only my mind
Can attempt to understand her thought
Which withers and dims and
Grows distant by the year
Perhaps not to become unreachable but inaccessible
To her existence then, to the
Motion and mind and minutes behind
Beyond forever ago.