and we do the things that need doing
for the day to look legitimate
for the log book we keep
of each other’s lives

we wash cups we
answer the door
we stick to bad habits
and good manners and
carry the day forward

until a mirror refuses to
reflect and tolerate
and the reflection refuses
to cooperate

only the anatomy of rain
upon the glass as
though the world has mastered
every shape except a face
these days I’m afraid

the best chunk of my soul
is going for a song
and this mirror will grow dim
before too long
before giving anything away