Photo credit: Blackriver Images
I’m wearing a mirror, antique
amber-browning, suitable,
wrapped ’round me – sometimes
still flashing by counterclockwise.
That’s where we seek guidance
with a twisted coin to decide for us,
like misses Rubenstein, or Dee-Dee
Cambodia, tuning times in their minds.
Now and then I dream I control
your eyes, to warm-up your drops,
dress you up in a sarong
dyed in colors and patterns to match
your lighted face – let’s pretend we’re
on a dance, while we’re just walking away.