Sunday, November 8, 2009


Change is slow; transparent, too:
I search the mirror, hope to see
A woman arrayed in it, who
Has closed the gap with perfect me.

Instead I sigh; the robes are mine.
They stink with effort, use and time
Spent moving one foot 'fore its twin:
A public farce of graceful climb.

I am shamed; I turn away.
The clock, a silent mockery
Of yet another wasted day
Ensnared in change's trickery.

Change is slow; it's quiet, too:
My image, fixed on heart of stone,
Did change with mirror out of view.
I knew not 'till you said, "You've grown."

1 comment:

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