Poetry Archive

Reflection at Evening

The face

staring at me

before bed


above a body

I don’t recognize

hair parted

on the wrong side

like a quarter moon

in a phase

I’ve not seen before


when I last

remember it


drawing more shadow

than light

cliffs and craters

deeper than I recall

fine dust coating

lunar features

smudging angles

making lines indistinct

a face like a

weary balloon


above a string

held tight in my fist


A weary hand

lets go and I

watch it rise

through the ceiling

beyond the chimney

on gathering currents

swiftly now, soaring

above the trees

silhouetted in

darkening clouds


as it drifts into

the black


its string

of memories.


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