Reflection

We fondle our past
with fingers
of fond memory
echoing regret
at time's  
swift passing.

You recall me
soft and round
waiting and eager
that element of danger
of quick discovery
and swift withdrawal
but always there
waiting

    and you
see in me still
that other
    the one who
lingers back there
dark-haired and nubile
and you smile

     here

I am, Love
don't you see me?
This pale reflection
refracting the
purity of youth
is only time
wrinkling the present.

1980 published in Origins