Distant Love

I think that when I hear your name spoken
          the memory of grey-brown eyes
                     will ever return.
The vision will reappear as does the image
          of a lake in the Rockies which
          after so many years, still affects my judgment
                      of true beauty.
These two perceptions have become as inseparable 
           in my mind as joining lovers
           who sense that they have met before.

Mirror and windows, eyes and lake are so alike. 
My joy is watching a calm surface
           so truly reflecting the surrounding beauty
            that reality and its likeness
                      merge into one pattern.
And yet with a closer look, the surface disappears
           as, feeling weightless, I view the magical depths
           leaning ever nearer until the fear of drowning
                       dissolves the dream.
My own image briefly emerges floating
            between outermost and innermost,
                       causing me to wonder where it belongs.

The question will probably last forever.
Memories of eyes and lakes have a way of enduring.