She thinks she was there once,
a little girl with long, blond, curls
and no shirt.
She thinks she stood next to a tall palm tree.
She thinks there was a photo.
At times, she can still see the beauty of the sky,
clouds about to burst, the ocean in the distance.
She thinks she was smiling,
her face not yet printed with permanent
frowns under passionless clouds.
She wonders if it was a dream.
Now there is no one left to tell her otherwise.