Her reflection

She weaves a courteous curious dance,
Scrawling glittery webs of memories and time,
Molding past lives in this paradigm,
Hoping light will gift her another chance.

If only time wasn’t dirt poured away
From the chipped glass of our soul,
A life half-spent not keeping her whole,
She’ll just stare and hope for yesterday.

The contoured depth of her eyes are
Vulnerable pools of tranquility.
Encased in treacherous skin that age has denied
No trepidation of humility