A mysterious asymmetry
for a mirror.
A passing fancy-
maybe
I should jump in
and risk silver shadows of glass
in my throat or drowning in the tepid
pool which never was
a mirror.

One wonders at the Other.
Too timid to reach out
and hold the Other's hand.
The dread of grey disappointment
is too heavy to stir, but the
canary in One's throat longs
to test the air. Patience
was never One's virtue. One feels
more prone to
anguish.

Extend your hand and I will not
let you fall.
A grasp of relief.
One and the Other both
free from marble waiting and
free also from the
emotiondeath of
the mirror.
andsowewait