Hardening Clarity


Hardening Clarity

I caught my reflection on passing a window
this morning. A distorted glimpse on old
conical glass, caught in those minutely
small bubbles, as if flawed glass sighs
a breath before hardening to clarity.

And there I am, like a disowned relative,
a hanger-on, twisted in its molten wake.
A picture of old sacks, and old rags,
a slack jowl, and a coming together
of porous thin bones. And my fingers,
damned things are rusted old keys.

And I think ….. but hey.



Inspired and remixed from Bleak HouseĀ 
and my 1991 Winter Journals
photo: wikiCommons

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