I ached for that harvest,
And tended you as best I knew
With hands, heart and later
with hope-heavy resolve.
Daring to taste ahead sometimes
but only very little.
Only in my mind.  
The days were early then,
so faith was modest and weak
as a newborn.
You were in an infancy of my making.
Birthed from an appetite that longed for sweetness,
but wearied during the ripening.

Restlessly watching for the shift to blessed fruition.
That moment when you would be no readier,
and would eagerly be reaped.
Poor Gardner me, too careful.
Shyly waiting for you to come to perfection.
Foolishly letting you whither on the vine.
All I have now is the taste of what you could have been,
Sweet on the lips of my mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt

Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending,
a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions.
Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers,
faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions.

From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets,
retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink,
beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive.  But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation.

His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words.

Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words,  confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite.

                                                
~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mirror by Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

runnerman from responsibility
over the seas swim undone,
walk on water pretend saint,
don't deny culpability,
no using can't, weighted, ain't,

but never say
words failed me

liar on fire, name names,
name yourself
before the board of inquiry
first among sinners,
ain't you weakly proud, yet,
don't deny responsibility,

but never say
words failed me

pathway thru the kingdom of men
to reach the ways of heaven,
looking for excuses, indifferent,
look for reasons, insufficient,
looking for travel guides
guaranteeing a good time had
bye, bye all

but never say
words failed me

your body may fly away,
or just deteriorate,
so many choices to
drown yourself in sin,
paper, rock, scissors,
or just a handy mirror

but never say
words failed me

words alone,
true words,
words only,
of others,
your own,
can save you

when you are about to
fail yourself