Cracked Mirrors

It’s so hard to see yourself
in a cracked mirror.
I gaze, deeply into faces
as they swirl and stream
past me in the byways and highways,
and the low ways too,
scuttering along in
gutters and grime.

I search for myself,
straining to see
past slackness,
furtiveness,
lost blankness.
I watch dances,
intricate and musical and tone deaf
but find no rhythm
that matches me.
Dark, seeing darkly,
peering intently past
foggy facades
hanging like moss
off cliff-sides.
Cracked mirrors…

Image 01

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