Memory of me

In distant depths 
I see familiar blurred shapes
In the hollowed eyes of a statue
there is a mirrored emotion I cannot see, but sense, beating within.
I dream of trees and serpents in the air;
Of cloudy skies and barren branches
that sketch wrinkles in this mirror
Twisting vines beneath the clear surface of my image.
Beating wings
and fallen feathers
Disturb it some
But far beneath cool darkness
And soft light
is a memory of me