The trick of a clothes horse

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 illusion

as if it’s nothing; nor has ever been.