Published in Poetry News
You stare in the mirror as if you wish
to go through, your hair clotting with silver
water, to arrive safely under new
lights, to end despair and breathe the good air
of freedom. You are at the border. Cross
now. You see what you are becoming. Wet
arms pull viscously. Your cold face answers
to a kiss or a slap. It is always
summer, you thought, and yet there is a darkness
hurrying in. Up again, then. Move out.
There is another stopping-place beyond.
Legend describes it as an oasis.
You drink and taste only sweetness. After,
in the mirror’s stare, you remember nothing.