There is a space that hangs in midair
Dangling immediately there ahead of her
Like a rabbit chasing a carrot, she follows
In desperate hopes of catching even a
Glimpse, a scent, a murmur from the mouth
That is gone and barely does she see you
Doing the regular things, the everyday
The motion picture sense of you that
Is repeatedly rewound to save you from
Being diminished or worse forgotten
The one that maintains you flawless,
Saintly and revered by all the others
Is not what she seeks, nor needs you to be
No, her wish is someday, to simply see that
Face, the head slightly tilted back to the side,
The smile content in the moment