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.