A single candle illuminates the darkness
as the wind, forcing it's way through a cleft
in the pane, tickles the flame,
alluring the shadows to dance.
Too and fro as in a blithely tailored ballroom,
shadows leap high upon the wall
as a snake in the grass
to it's unsuspecting prey.
Only to recoil in lulled anticipation,
of it's next victim.
And in my peaceful repose, I turn,
in mirror I wonder is this me this face I see
looking back at me and, if not me then
who might be this epitome, the me I see,
this face I see looking back at me.
Perhaps this face I see, I see perhaps
is an erstwhile me, and come to see,
in this face I see looking back at me,
perhaps I really don't know me.
The me I see looking back at me.


Jon Nov.08