I can see your eyes through the mirror,
A reflection in another that
Bounces off, towards the walls and
Comes back browner, stronger. Almost
All-knowing, and all-seeing orbs
That swim on the surface of smooth glass.
There are stories
Caught in those shut lids, clamped down
And fluttering in red and black and bright
Orange until you open them again,
And everything is let out. The walls
Are helpless and attacked
By images, clear as cut diamonds, and memories
That play out like silent movies. All
Of this I watch, ticketless and amused,
From underneath the bed.