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.