Because you keep turning toward me
what I suppose must be
my own features only
backward it seems to me
that you are able to see
me only by
looking back from somewhere
that is a picture of here
at this moment but
reversed and already
not anywhere

so how far
away are you
after all who seem to be
so near and eternally
out of reach
you with the white hair
now who still surprise me
day after day
staring back at me
out of nowhere
past present or future
you with no weight or name
no will of your own
and the sight of me
shining in your eye

how do you
know it is me