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MIRROR
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful -
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
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LOOKING GLASS
Polished, strict, I lack prejudice.
With no hesitation I consume all I view -
Straightforward, affected by no emotion.
I have no malice. The authentic alone is my creed -
The countenance of a rectangular mini-deity.
Mostly I stare here at my room.
Here is a bathrobe hook. Walls are decorated. Such devotion
Must make this some rare aspect of me. Yet it wavers,
As visages and night part us time after time.
Here I am a pond. A lady looks to me,
And asks my depths for a verification of self.
Then she reverts to her falsehoods of light and satellite.
I take a stern view, and express it frankly.
She sobs and flails in thanks.
I remain essential. She will return here to me.
Dawn after white dawn it is she who appears.
In me her youth sank horribly, while a wrinkling replacement
Ascends more and more, a horrid old dried trout.
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