Who is that in the looking glass?
That bears resemblance to my eye?
Same crook of brow, same tilt of head
Same slant of nose and smile shy
Who is it that looks out at me?
When e’er I deign to wander past
Are all her thoughts as grave as mine?
Is she as lost in thoughts so vast?
Does her mind swirl with big ideas?
Do magic words come into view?
Obscuring daily wants and needs
And setting pen to strive anew
To craft a masterpiece of sound
A work that speaks of mystery
Beguiling words that fill the page
And show the writer’s artistry
With taste and texture wantonly
Besieging pages crisp and white
Emerging as a stanza’s wish
To flourish in poetic light
I glance upon the glass again
And there she is with furrowed brow
To see her poised with pen in hand
One might believe she’s me, somehow.