On Being Self-Involved

An invisible spotlight follows me (even
when waiting at the stoplight
the mirror beckons
for just one reassuring glance...)
Ghostly paparazzi stream for miles
their loving popping camera flashes
easily outshine the light from cold, far stars.

In fact it seems mirrors
are everywhere.
Shop windows...
a polished spoon...
three plates in the living room...
puddles in streets...
the bathroom of course
(getting up, sometimes, in the middle of the meal)...
reflective glass on the Rembrandt in the museum -
Yes, I've checked my hair there.
Shiny paint on cars, gleaming metal
is irresistable and what's more
the dawn light in my lover's eyes.

And my own eyes:
I peer into them in mirrors
and see my face in them, its eyes
carrying their own tiny incubus.
My soul richochets off these surfaces
and booms back to me a thousandfold louder
Oh let it go on without end
my dance through the hall of mirrors
for in the empty spaces
it's very dark, it's very very still.
If you let your soul out there
it may never bounce back.