Bare hair, plain face
she nudges the screen shrouding confusion
dreamy eyes and a star struck composure
she sees beyond the faceless stranger
Surely there is some significance to her history?
when she introspects the mirror, mirror on the wall
the discourse of his shape materialises
as if he retains all the answers
Disappointment. She chose not to recall.
I wish she could find solace in her truth
But it takes her silhouette to expose the lies
It takes his lingering commiseration to direct her focus
She thought she could change the future
I know, I’ve been there, it never works out
Manipulation becomes weary
but the effort is commended
It doesn’t matter: He indulges her anyway
to combine skills and develop coherence, but –
No, she’s happier as the scavenger, the destroyer of hope
affection so elusive retracted in favour of journeying
Is there a buoyant ending for her sand-worn soul?
I think not, at least not where he’s concerned
But on the last pages of an unsettled correspondence
remains expectation of the galaxy.