By Jenna Reimer
In the prevailing gloom at days end
A faint pale light hovers over an image-
The reflection of my own discernible face.
Painful breathing
Seems to come from the darkness,
Like a mighty, remote sorrow rising
From the city streets.
A fading vision, vague and incomplete,
My left eye is lost amongst stiff shadows already;
The loin of my hip faintly visible.
I feel my head in a whirl, being swallowed
By an earth dropping into the void.
And in the cloudiness of the moonlight
A grey half-gloom fades onto my face;
The beam becomes a luminous compass,
Reflecting from this mirror a waning shroud.
