And everything is mirrors
tonight.
The sky a perfect medium of blue
darkened with navy and orange capillaries,
and the whitewashed walls
I know to be scummed by the highway
mirror the sunset.
Inflate my lungs with the edible late January air
my torso twitching with the feeling of being
whole,
like a good dream
that lasts well throughout the morning.

And there is a lump of something bittersweet;
something delicious I've missed out on
lurks back there with the other chances.
But this, too, is right, and
completes it all.

A train passes
another mirror,
and I inhale again
this unlimited resource of warmest winter.