Thursday, February 14, 2008


The mirror opened:
a small creek.
It let in a sparrow,
which hung on the frame
and looked at me –
those beady eyes!

A cool wind eases out of the glass-doors.

I rest my head on the mirror-pane.

The shades grew long in the yard outside,
and the fat leaves of those unknown trees broke sweat.

I could be buried here.

[the painting: Rene Magritte: Lunette-Approche (1929)]

1 comment:

anitha said...

' we are buried here
not to be alive again,
still living through halves,
dead in particles.
sparrow seems to be luckier...