The Tibetan Mirror

If light, or desire 
Can truly be trapped 
In mere layers of glass 
I saw it in that reflection. 
Drawn from a fire in Lhasa 
Salvaged in the Bangkok rain 
Catching a silent Kyoto winter moon. 
A borrowed story louder than my own 
I stared far beyond the person it reflected 
And declared “This is not who I am 
But who I shall be”. 

Is it conceited 
To will for objects 
That come to reflect you? 
Such a story, after all 
Quietly loomed larger than any bewildered guest 
A centrepiece in an ongoing performance 
Of one’s invented self. 
None would imagine 
How I covered the mirror when alone 
Afraid the trapped layers would shatter 
In a perfect crown of thorns 
Around an ailing charade. 

And so both of us wait 
For the damned occasion 
My last confidante 
Looks back at me 
And, seeing its all been an illusion 
Says “So this is who you are.” 

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Cover image by emptylott untitled