Somewhere deep within
Somewhere these currents bend
Somewhere the tides are slow
Someplace she calls her own

And so swiftly turned, the hands of time
Each memory written line by line
The face she finds before the glass,
a reflection of her all-things-past.

It's there she turns and dips her hair
It's there she leaves the inkwell bare
for today, is the day that she's alive
A full world open; a deep-breath dive.

-aw