There’s a full length mirror, and a clothes horse
and as I look up suddenly, it seems
someone’s standing next to me, but of course
there’s no one there. A trick of light. A dream.
There’s no-one standing here, just empty sleeves
stirring as if they’d still go around me;
it’s only a short-lived spasm of half-sleep
an image conjured by solitude, a leap
of faith and air, transient, imaginary.
It’s only an empty coat, and the one
who wore it is never going to walk in.
A throb of air and light, a reflection
behind a silvered glass. Soon the dark will thin
dispersing the solace of illusionas if it’s nothing; nor has ever been.