Arts + Scene » Poetry

Before Travel



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.

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