At a Glance

You write with dusty plumes
from new-hatched babes
coated with eggshell grime
and embryonic strain

But you do so with grace
and constitutional flair
that catches my glancing skims.

So I read a bit more, and find
myself in lace-cracked mirrors
faceted reflections
of you and me.
Where did us come from?

Nowhere
not those aging dreamland fantasies
nor ephemeral future days
nor the indifferent hour
in which we live.

Maybe it was a spectre
drawn with unbearable likeness

and verbalized
with pondering sighs.

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