Image courtesy of kreuzberged.com

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The Mirror

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You lie here wide-eyed
as if the icon on the wall
came alive—the small hand
of the woman in red robes

resting on your forehead.
I wish I could be happy.
Tomorrow the squirm in my blood
will seem insignificant.

The window checkers the bedspread.
Meandering sleighs of light
pierce the dark mirror.
There a woman sits up on the bed,

pulls up the blinds
watches the trees
fill with morning.

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First published in Crab Creek Review, Autumn/Winter 2002 (print edition only)