You live in the
folds of time,
an Einstein dream
of eternal youth.
Within the spaces
of dreams and
memory,
we are still young.
The image in my mind
fails to validate the
image in the mirror,
a disconnect that
somehow pleases me,
yet waxes melancholy.
Like a whirling dervish
all the joy dances
with us,
making time
stand
still.
Categories: Poetry