He views himself in the mirror 

Consider morning,

when light

splits curtained  darkness,

when fingers tremble 

to re-bait the hooked question

and cast once more

into untroubled mirrors. 




Now – if ever –

that great fish should rise, 

magnificent, speckled, cold;

the ring of gold 

hoarded  in his belly ...




Only a face, 

sad,

In clear depths of glass

exiled.





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