“mirrored glass“
A draft slips beneath the heavy cedar door,
neither a gale of the high peaks, nor a sigh
but it finds marrow.
Such bittersweet pivot,
this calibrator of pulse,
stirrer of ash in the hearth we left cold.
Like a sudden rain on dry eucalyptus,
I am undone again by what I cannot hold,
the joints of my fingers losing their grip
on mirrored glass.
.
