Putting My Bones in Order

Today, my morning light is an amber haze over the hayfield. A pink threading of light is brushed onto the treetops. The ghost of hope passes through the branches of the magnolias, falls and leans against my back, softly asking for passage, as I turn to make my way back into the house.

Ignoring the request,

I take off my glasses, turning on the tap to wash my face, and look into the dirty mirror, not smiling.
I am irritated with the face presented to me. I do not know this man. Where is his cheer and coy mocking eyes? Where is his slight corner smile offering the promise of love akin to a prison?
My familiarity with the reflection touches upon the coins placed over eyes of the broken. I find him suspect, focusing on the manner in which he holds his mouth. Stupid, crooked, weak and trembly thing; the runt kitten.

I move close to the mirror, my face wet and soapy, the spigot singing, all distractions in order to distort this aperture, my five fingers touching the glass and I...

I whisper to him, vital warm breath fogging my view

I repeat to this reflection,

"I could give you all the olive trees.
Look at the trees and look at my face
And look at a place far away from here."

and with these few words I make the old man weep.

I'll Believe In Anything