Cameos

Your two faces
have not faded,
but rather are carved
like cameos, lockets
lain against my soul,
voices whispering

Mommy, Mommy.

My arms cannot stretch far enough.
My tears cannot float me back to you.
This distance swirls
between us like a river, always
moving to a destination
never reached.

Time is a river.

One hand over the other,
again, again. This is how
days pass over me,
swimming head above water,
swimming to live,
swimming past hopelessness
to your two faces,

which are my face,
my body, surviving
on a distant shore.