Friday, July 22, 2011


We argue, my mirror and me.
Though we are twins we see things differently.
I see an image, it sees flesh
I am flesh and pulse and breath, 
it is an image pulsing in tandem
but breathless.
In the image sdrawkcab era sdrow
but time remains - I get no younger.
Maybe if the mirror was in the attic
I’d fare better.
God made me in his image,
is that why I get things wrong?


The Unknowngnome said...

.detrotsid tsuj gnorw ton on

.htiek eceip gnikovorp thguoht rehtona

Connie Arnold said...

Interesting thought and poem, Keith!