Between a blink,
In darkness ever so brief,

Against each eye lid,
A visage rest finely engraved,
A visage of my own,

Though immaculate in high relief,
There was increasing unease,
As though to perceive it,
Was to obscure it,

Could this be,
But a buried impression of me,
Of dwindling memory,

Or, some idealised state,
That I hopefully await,

One thing be certain,
What visage linger,
Between the blink,
Is what I will never understand.