Mornings, the sun
tunnels through the hallway:
mirror on the wall
richochets quicksilver rays
and darts three metres tall.
Nights, the passing headlamps
strike the surface,
splintering in shards
that zigzag round blind corners,
collide in screams of glass…
The mirror, a kaleidoscopic eye,
gleans each stray gleam of light,
releasing fleet electric hares
to taunt the hounds of night…
Mirror, Mirror...
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104073100485
Свидетельство о публикации №104073100485
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