Song for a Sparrow

If I could come back to this spot in time from some distant future, how would the current "me" see myself?

she sounded
Lost—
the life of a pyschopomp, a
ever-moving inner vertigo

time traveling and star gazing--
her wits’ end, she said;
for the life of me,
the story sounded like a song

I couldn’t help but wanting to go there

with her,
getting lost
worrying only about curfew