Just think—somewhere
or other
in your place,
there's a mirror—
greensilver gilded—
otherwise austere,
grim, dustless—
that you
yourself—
when you first moved here
never
endeavored
to hang there;
it just—clings
where it clung before,
same
as it ever was, and already
paid for.
But never once
have you hesitated
to allow it
to use you
routinely—prior to exhaling
out your
door every morning—
to look itself squarely
in the eye
and to think—
what the hell?
