AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
-For M.B.
A film forms over my tea --
Cracks sprout at first, then tendrils
Echoing the texture of a leaf membrane
In silent discrete segments.
Observe each further
And the pattern repeats, so now
You see dark clear water, flavoured
And frong-edged: the peace coast.
And a child playing by the beach
Who will not come home.
This silence bleeds like a teabag.
¤ ¤ ¤
OF MIRRORS
yatha bubbulakam passe yatha passe maricikam
evam lokam avekkhanatam maccuraja na passati
The Dhammapada
(Chapter 13, 170)
Having overcome my initial fear, I strode
Onto the slippery surface: or rather, was led.
Nimble steps over her own reflection, she was
My fairy-guide to her garden,
Once even clasping my hand tight, lest I fall;
Fish gleaming under our feet in hurried streaks.
And I, being impure, had thought all along
The glass was water.
Right in the thick of it,
So that now the sea surges up from all sides
In puissant spikes. Then seasong
Played fast forward and amplified
In your ears, while a wave freezes
Overhead in mid-shock, yawning an open
Gulpy palate. Limply, your face
Hangs over it, concave in reflection.
A touch - and the spell is broken,
Stretched over the foible till the elastic snapped:
Shards spread on the void, the light
Still knocking off shines along the edges.
Bending, you see pieces of you and her,
Scattered, reminding how you have
Walked together, now fragments
Too numerous to collect.
