Darkness, no figure, no sound, no reflection,
a canvas of glass, the empty pause before a song,
the silence after a song creates its own world.
I swore to sing the night I saw; I vowed to build an empire of wind.
You let me think I’d made the world. Matter existed
for me to shape – and longed to claim me.
I wanted to bury myself in my own creation.
Instead the phone rang; a friend asked how I’d been.
During my tryst with belief and religion a light appeared
in the mirror. Which I feigned into revelation.
The light wed the shadow that held it; the mirror was whole.
I understood every single thing whole and forever once again.
In the library I sit reading about Sophia, Wisdom of God,
descending into matter, mother of the Creator.
I souleye out the window as my alarm clock goes off;
when the alarm clock becomes a car horn, I am no longer reading.
When I asked for God, you showed me what I could conceive,
a place where I could someday see my soul, divine
and shattered. You showed me yourself; this is my mirror,
created to reflect you. Take it. Gaze.
I watch the ducks squawking and splashing.
I become a thin mirror in which they appear.
I hold the whole world; I am only a gust of summer.
The ducks and the mirror and I all zoë one soul.
is a graduate of Kalamazoo College, the Warren Wilson College MFA Program for Writers, and Drew University. He teaches creative and expository writing at New York University. His work has recently appeared or will appear in BlazeVOX, Dressing Room Poetry Journal, Red Savina Review, Blood Lotus Journal, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Grist: The Journal for Writers, Kenning Journal, Pank, and SOFTBLOW. He lives in Mamaroneck, New York, with his wife, Carol.