The moon leans down through my window
And wakes me. When I search the mirror,
there is nothing but the silver
When I look again,
the moon is down,
and where she had been,
there are two images of me in the quicksilver
-- the one who stays
and the one who wants to go.
In this space between selves, I am left
wondering what the other
will do with these darkening hours
after the door is closed
and there is only the fading echo of my footsteps.