speak, but it
mumbles
its imperatives. It works,
as a tumbler
in reverse—staining and polluting
in reverse—staining and polluting
that which you'd already purchased
as shiny, silver,
and perfect-
ly useful. It fouls your image
with the homely
grit of indiscretion, forcing a whole
grit of indiscretion, forcing a whole
glut of conspicuous
indecisions—such as
indecisions—such as
whether or not
it still makes any
it still makes any
sense to try
combing your hair
combing your hair
when you
can't see anything
can't see anything
familiar in there? And though
you try
you try
to wipe away
the condensation,
the condensation,
all you manage
to do is to
to do is to
muddle the surface
further—so instead, you just
further—so instead, you just
stand there, still puzzled
and peering, now
speaking out-
loud to yourself for
loud to yourself for
the first time
in a long while,
in a long while,
and asking—whether
what lies inside
what lies inside
the gilded frame
more closely resembles—
more closely resembles—
a chalice?
Or a pair
of—kissing
faces.
Or a pair
of—kissing
faces.