photographic memory

It’s all there
in your pale eyes,
glowing ghostly
from your nightlike skin.

It’s all there –
your empty stare,
your hardset lips
(so otherwise lush).

In your scars,
you are a thing –
possessed – not a
person to be asked.

The harm done
to you will last
generations
into centuries.

from the series violations

the love not taken

Morning shines bright, but the wind –
so cold – blows right through me.
I am remembering
how warm I used to be
with you, and wondering:
do you ever think of me?

Do you picture me young, the
wispy girl I was then,
or burdened with gray and
pounds . . . . You can’t imagine.
Do you forget, or do
you regret what might have been?

Like a new moon of lost dreams
am I your mind’s shadow?
Do I linger, hover,
flit-float like a vapor,
blur, obscure, tint, color,
come like a breath of Spring
(mere scent through open windows)?