A Woman's Reflection on Her Reflection (Valence and Value)

one poem, written by two authors


~~~

Ever the analyst,
A mirror functions as surface to
Parse the fleeting constant
Of youth's beauty.

From genetic gift
Of symmetry and bone,
To technological tampering,
Until the equation is solved,
As experience and character
Models and maps the result.

The answer, a reflection,
Of individual valence and value

(written by S.D., a woman)

~~~

(written by N.L., a man)

unbidden and unannounced, a
"not fully formed poem,
but a simple reflection"
inbound missile arrives inbox,
armed with silent power,
the lethality of the
Holy Unexpected

the man reflects
on her mirror-on-the-wall's
fulsome reply,
parsing the words of a
woman's reflection,
while gazing on her own

every human's momentary glass notation,
but an instance of summation,
a human poem, whose editing,
unceasing

a comma here,
a period inserted,
an eye shadowed, an eyebrow tweezed,
a eye dark circle line added,
to tree-mark time's authorship

all  these
but a person's
excerpted extraction,
notarized,
then auto-erased and revised,
as out of date,  
instantaneously compromised

but,

it is upon  the conceptual,
valence and value,
more that the man reflects perpetual,
less on transitory morphing changes of
exterior mortality

while overlooking her
glassine realization from behind,
he concludes:

every reflection,
no matter how oft the snapshot,
the unfleeting constancy
of the combining of the

princes of principles,
valence and value

that he witnesses,
in the calming pool
of her eyes,
(those borrowed windows into her soul's well,)
so well reflect
her unchanging greater finery,

her character

this reflection,
metamorphosis transformed.
into a planetary permanency poem,
high placed in his the firmament
of their conjoined sky

So many of hours are compressed, drained, squeezed for all their worth
So many of our days are pressed into our skin with molten memory
So many of our years are defined by the effort, by the reward
And so it should be, such definition is gratifying

But forgive me, if forgiving is due, for valuing insignificance
For understanding a macro distinction of cells and stars and our place in between
For allowing time towards the subtle seconds of observation
And the day dream of depth that comes with it

When the leaf falls after such intense photosynthesis
When the river rushes with unfleeting certainty
When the bird calls out with definite culture
When the girl blushes with warm emotion

I hope I am around to see it

There is a veil,
with no eyes and no ears.
It sets like a stone,
between love and its fears.

Totally unfleeting,
no laughs and no jeers.
To be ever-present,
for all of man's years.

Truly diseased;
synaptic in nature.
Stumble the footwork
and words of thy taker.

Creates blindness,
no sense.
Through silky folds,
made too dense.

There is a veil,
with no eyes and no ears,
but somehow it hears
and it sees all its fears.

It tears all but once,
before, never again,
will it restitch its wounds,
only gasping as wind.

*Collaboration, William Connelly.

Your face is like autumn's edge

The endearing triumph of tucking away summer. The shallow walks in woods, arms enveloped in anothers, wrapping oneself into the arsenal of comfort.

The sun ending in early afternoon, setting itself over that trail from the nape of your neck to your lips, which my finger-leaves grazes ever so slightly, falling away from the knowing of branched arms. That leap of faith stumbles so gracefully, suddenly, the shining of the first touch-fall, delicately inching it's way to the ground of your lips. I'm grounded in this fall, feathers melting in the setting sun of your half closed eyes. The parting sigh of ending summer, one last sizzle until you make your claim, burrow yourself into the center of me, cool me down and say, "I am here to stay." I take comfort in your coming. The knowing that you offer something unfleeting, something that repeats itself year after year, and yet, I am still mesmerized by it's beauty, still amazed that it comes, still unsure how luck could ever find me.

Your face is like autumn's edge; tumbling lovely for sleep, keeping me wanting more.

It was this unfleeting curiousity that reeled me in
Photographs, scribbled addresses and phone numbers, envied columns
Pencils behind the ear, in between teeth while thinking, concentrating on the enigma
The details of the most puzzling parts of the seeming whole that I set my heart on finding out
Complete
It's not research, it's searching
It's knowledge and pressure to be right but confidence in being in the right place at the right time, studying the right thing, the rush within fueling me to keep going

-cj