A Congruence

The echoes of childhood
pass across her face
in the mid-afternoon.
when her eyes stare far off.

She’s gone.
Her reality is
somewhere distant
deep within.

From here
I can imagine what
she must have looked like
not 20 years prior.

It’s a game I play
and it’s the opposite
of an old favorite
I would spend hours at.

I sought a type
of future image
I search within
the great chasm
of memory
to find
(what? I don’t know.)
the beginning of
a congruence
parallel lines that make sense
where no sense
is meant to be found.


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