Borrowed Rides I

Lost in gonebyes she is listening to old songs,
tunes with echoes of her sweet teen years.
She remembers with a slightly furrowed brow,
she remembers with the tail flap of a passing scent,
she remembers with the dust
dancing in the slanting sunlight,
she remembers somehow,
she remembers anyway,
she remedies the rocks and voids in the remembrance
she clings and at once distances herself
like the cat of her self,
from that which feeds,
from whatever she has,
the stranded memories
as forlorn branches
heavily drifting by.

Prepare, my girl, prepare,
the ivy would rustle in her green years,
for a time when all this will be beyond you.
Prepare, sweet princess, prepare,
the pitogües would chirp in her full bloom,
for a time when the ocean will divide you,
and words,
those uncanny warriors,
bouncing ever so precisely,
rushing off and under satellites,
bewitching their allure,
will seethingly outdo you,
suck your life, 
and spurn you.
What a pity, what a joy
that they can never,
I say never,
signify you.