janus
In the morning the words came like always
Easy, catching onto my words like wool to a fence.
But I, no less caught, looked further on.
In the morning the words outlived themselves
Reaching points around the room: the clock,
The cherished pipe, a pictured horizon.
And I was with them. But adjusting the curtains
Spread the cold light, and with it, as difficult
As a disquieted partner, came the cold truth.
It took me away from stories of stray lambs,
From the charred crucible of clay, from the scumbled clouds,
To my feint reflection in glass. With a face as white and sad
As when, from behind your mask I got your last look,
I saw backwards then - till the sun broke through.