Reflecting from flatness, depth--
from stillness, motion's strange
illusionary images
that shift, and change--
Light through the bathroom window--
summer, winter, fall--
drawn in slanting yellow squares
upon the wall--
Pathos of jars, curved bottles
slowly emptying--
curtains like seabirds flapping
an injured wing--
And faces, sleep-puffed faces,
that with a hurt surprise
see strangers' faces staring
back in their eyes--
Even a heart of glass,
swollen too huge, can ache;
or holding too many images
swell out and break.
But nothing must mar this clear
surface, distort this view--
so that the world may see the world,
reversed, but true.
Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie