Cindering Glass
The oval glass, heldCalm, yet cracked with returning histories, Partly obscured with old and unseen mysteriesFrom every other past. Futures beckon, yet tears fall unaskedHearts, oh, the hearts, lie open and bleedingBefore the unseeing eyes of those all around, round. And the man in the mirror Is cindering. So slowly, he is cindering... In the glass. Unseen, yet held by the woman in the grassAnd he can't see himself in the future.