It rained a mirror
and a firmament shone underfoot,
looking up at itself,
blue and white,
above and below
the indolent leaves,
their rhythmless drips
like driblets of dreams,
afterthoughts
of the night rain,
mizzlings
on the morning glass.
.
Twinned in marshy mirror
the day flies
flashing
apart
sic transit
in molten moment
twilight’s performance art.
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
If you are colorless
like death
parchment shade of yourself
suspended
over winter water
— leering mirror
waggly-lined mockery of the real —
bent ever closer
to the purr of cold,
solitary
unclothed
but for frost’s wrap,
rooted in a clay famine
thick with indifference,
then
you are caregiver.
Warmth and shelter of Denial
hoarded by others,
yours the endless winter of dementia
never
never
spring.
