moldy wishing wells

i panic that she has become unreal in all my longings
by the playground swings and in toy store aisles,
or hiding behind birthday balloons

because i used to see pure reflections of her
in little hands and squishy faces
that appeared near me,
that didn’t belong to me

but time seems to to have absorbed her —
what used to be so clear in my mind
has disappeared into angry self-portraits and down moldy wishing wells

i squint at the sun, daring it to burn me again
(i do not know which is the light and which is the flame)

and i search desperately for where
my memory, my darling, my love
can be found again