Mirrors

Was it a mirror then across a room, A crowded room of parties where the smoke Rose to the ceiling with the talk ? The glass Stared back at me a half-familiar face Yet something hoped for. When at last you came It was as if the distant mirror spoke. ̄ That loving ended as all self-love ends And teaches us that only fairgrounds have The right to show us halls of mirrors where In every place we look we see our stare Taunting our own identifies. But love Perceives without a mirror in the hands.

- ‘Mirrors’ by Elizabeth Jenning