Mirror

  
Come out from behind
that smoke of yours
and I’m standing before a mirror
of me
and it’s been such a long time
since I have seen
myself
that I wonder all about the shelves I somehow
find I sit beneath,
choking, oh so quietly,
upon the dust that gathers,
as a sheep’s-fleece would,
around my feet.

I feel I’ve been walking
ever so long…
and yet,
I recall,
you searched for me once.
it was around the time I stopped
for lunch, on a blanket
made of dirt,
laid cold
upon aching earth,
in the glory of a setting sun.

And the dirt was running
through my hair that day
but it was the filth in my mouth that made
you stay and stand
and claw
at all the pretty words being spoken
about hunters’ eyes like yours.

“Throw open the windows, then”
I said,
“…and the doors,
…and we’ll let the smoke out,

for there is no question
anymore,
you are my mirror
without a doubt.”