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