A Future Glance

The past reflects

a future glance,

a figment familiar

but strange,

and the eyes

that once loved you,

change shape –

and the refuge found,

dilutes –

fades away

with each passing reflection.

Our waking hours

Our waking hours,

eyes open,

we fail

to see.

The day 

is trivial,

superficial,

and despite its nakedness,

reveals nothing at all.