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.