Reflection

You expect dishonesty from me
And my throat often struggles to pull you down.
Unmoved unless my surface is warped,
I own what you are loath to see.

When I am not servicing you
I long for a larger panorama.
And when you retire for sleep, I am blind and hungry.
This repetition of night and day
has become my pith.

When I am water, you stoop and kneel.
I offer you what is beneath and within me
The muck and weeds mix with the lines around your eyes.
A fish
A stone
The sand.

In anger your fingertips ruin my repose.
Were I glass, I would curse and slash you.

Instead I resettle and remind you
It is not I who pinched your years.

©2003