A visual echo plays the surface,
Dancing and distorted.  
In a very real sense she lives
And for a moment I am overcome with a fear
That she is the true form.  

When the surface is abandoned
She is forced to move through nothingness,
Waiting for my face to pull her back
To our world, where visual bodies lie.

I am lost in thoughts of where she wonders,
Without path or guidance.  
Does she truly cease to exist at all
When my gaze no longer rests on her?

But how instantly she can return!  
Sometimes hazy, deformed, ghostly,  
Sometimes broken by the tide.  
But always truly faithful,
Always an honest reflection.