Faces Between Times

In the airport mirror, a flash of glass—

old eyes staring back from a laminated page.

The photo's face is sharper, less worn,

like a stranger caught decades ago.

The clerk’s glance flicks from paper to skin,

searching for the ghost in the snapshot.

My reflection falters beneath tired eyes,

a face lived in, folded and folded again.

The passport holds a memory of who I was,

but the mirror knows the weight I carry now,

a distance drawn between two faces,

one fading, one barely holding on.