Reflected apparent.
A tilted eye shows long
Stupefied sadness.
And the nose, swollen where it oughtn’t to be
Squats bulbous and surrounded by age.
Coated in a fine craquelure
That won’t be restored any time.
Somehow the working of a smile forces
Furrows deeper.
There is no wisdom in the life you forfeited.
And the pain is reflected in my own record.
My image made weaker in your likeness.