We present this work in honor of the 10th anniversary of the poet’s death.

 

Could it have been mine,
that face—cold, alien—
that an unexpected mirror,
crossed by a quick look,
flashed me back?

It was a moment’s chance,
since, at second glance,
the face had turned familiar—
my mouth again, my eyes
wide in surprise.

Now, though I verify
oddness of bone and eye,
we are no longer one,
myself and mirror-man.
Trust has gone.

I had thought them sure,
the face and self I wore,
Yet, with no glass about,
what selves, whose unsuspected
faces stare out?