The Mirrors

When two mirrors meet, they reflect crystalline light and labyrinths.
One is already remembering the future in the cool afterglow.
One doesn’t always know where one ends and the other begins.
When two mirrors meet, time begins again.

We give our hearts away.
We yearn for immersion in the beloved.

She is like a cat that walks on the ceiling where moonbeams crescendo.
Sometimes like a fierce cat; other times, like an alley cat or a stray.

He doesn’t always understand the logic of cats or their soft purring paws,
or their claws.

There is a fountain from which both joy and sorrow flow, he/she sits there
Time passes in its unmovable way.
There are no obstructions, no obstacles,
once we forget there is no “other.”

She longs for a deeper draught to quench her thirst, not knowing her thirst is infinite.
He yearns for the naive music of old fashioned times, the flutes and cymbals
but the band drifts farther away.

The mirrors walk through the weave of psychic attention, snagged on little hooks
of identity. Some call it a party.

The mirrors multiply themselves, seeking reflections and nuances. Everybody is
speaking faster and quieter all of the time. She dances
like a cat, guided by spirits. He touches her where her pain lingers.

Everything spins.