in repose

the mirror
in repose
faced a room
filled
with slumber

nothing came
and passed
without notice

dust
danced
devils motivated by the sun

nothin..

what is this
who is this

a man

stood before it

neither slender
nor stout
nor so very tall

who is this
is it
me

I move
when he moves

we are one

I feel
a rightness
now he is
before me

I am splendid
dressed
as I am
in these fine clothes

I can dance
I can whirl
look look
I can admire myself
when I glance back
across my shoulder

look at me
just look at me
I am so handso…

the room
in repose
filled
with slumber

against a wall
facing the room
the glass of a mirror
showed nothing
passing by
without notice


© Frank Prem, 2017

July 2017 Poem #08: what an eye beholds

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