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Show 30 Reflected You keep returning unbidden, unasked without warning, an image anomalous in the logic of distance and days: hyacinth, remembered color reflected in the mind's black pond under the ice. There still remains a taste of you, like blood or the sea, constant inside me, mirrored, yet independent of your life: your face symbolized, small and white within the shadow of your hair, a bitter lily that I coveted long before our meeting. I have not kept it hidden that I hate you too often for comfort. I offer no apology, make no demand and don't care to see you, but you keep returning against my will, stealthy in your costume of despair, crying like a cat articulate in its own desire. |
