Insect in Amber

The sun sets in streaks
of heat and distant fire.

The windowpane reflects my eyes
fuzzy-bright with fading flares
of burnt-gold light.
A wraith appears
trapped in the glass
like an insect in amber.

You may watch this sunset
hours later, in another country.
Do you feel fresher than I do?
Or do time and timid thoughts
crush, crease and wrinkle you too
like a used, well-worn mattress?

My eyes still do the sideways glance
that always intrigued you.
I try it out
and then wish I had not.
My lips are not cute anymore,
drooping in anxious slackness.

If suddenly, you call
to say you are returning,
I won’t meet your flight
and take the coward’s way out.
How else would you remember me
intriguing, with that cute pout?

I’ll hide in some tall
glass and metal building block
and unravel colourful memories
like silk-thread skeins,
embroidering blemish-free scenes
creating a mirage
with borrowings from the past
leaving reality for each tomorrow.