From the mirror,
Water from the sky,
Wrinkles and spots hidden to sight.
A puddle can’t be so true, after all.
It’s me and blue, white, blue behind.
No one else but the ripples of time.
No one else but my eyes looking back.
I grew up fond of me.
And the reflection did so too.
I’ll sing I’m alive.
On my own.
Maybe the cat.