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.
