Silver and Exact

In the dip of mirror,
The long line of a bone
Follows the slow blink of lid,
Costly skin draws tight across the
Rise and fall of brow
Unfurrowed. Lips retreat to
Lisping and the soft bulb
Solves all for now.

In the fog of mirror
The blunt finger clears
A space where plump lips
Draw back over neat teeth,
Enamel catching the
Evening’s glow from the hall
And the drone of a fan
An accompaniment

To the tick tock -
A foreshortening where
The dark wormhole of the eye
Leeches light to another mirror,
Silver and exact.