Eyes. Always
begin with the eyes.
Abstracted, hers
gaze half-away
beyond the
border lines.
Fixed in far-off
monochrome,
this face had
time to prepare,
yet is smooth
with the sureness of youth.
Mane of hair,
centre parted,
is a curtain not
yet drawn back.
Not picture perfect.
The slight wave
a question –
like woods and flowers
on an upward path
– where she sees
how earthbound
feet might tread.
Face you
could be sweet on –
before the
muttering retreats
of hip
replacement, varifocus
and whiny
hearing aids.
When once – through
blindfold of our dreams –
we would conjure
worlds uncropped.
iv. 2018
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