Summer 1993 • Vol. XV No. 3 Poetry |

The Mirror

If marriage as a mirror of our world gives us the ardent pair, blood-red bedclothes funkily fragrant, garden-lit windows, wood clogs, a little terrier, what world does she reflect? What message does the gold leaf back of her translucent skin disclose? Speculation spreads like a cellist's knees; she's like no other, mirroring each mere word she reads, so what she reflects is mystery. I ache for her to apprehend me, perfected in her jewels' white light stupid as a star, or to swing her eyes suddenly up at me--- I'd enter their reflection, her deep mirror. That's the world to live in, all in her head.

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