mirror

i’m sorry i bumped into you.
i thought you were a mirror.
your clear surface showed
what they saw of me then.
parties are meant for diffusion,
but we focused instead.
twisting the lens to almost
make out what was there.
i’m sorry i couldn’t touch you.
i thought you were a mirror.
i feared leaving greasy prints
for everyone to see.
museums of mailboxes and phones
reveal past and future connections.
a present —
behind smudged display glass.
i’m sorry you didn’t see me
waving at you in the city.
i thought you were a mirror.
you weren’t yet waving back.
being gay is hard sometimes.
hotel bathrooms get steamy,
you can’t always get the right angle
before the image blurs.
i’m sorry we were interrupted.
i thought you were a mirror.
i never dreamed anyone would
walk through it and shatter the glass.
i need to move but i can’t sleep.
some things aren’t done yet.
i’m hiding from sunrise, from men,
under blankets and cardboard towers.
i’m sorry i looked so long.
i knew you were a mirror,
but i couldn’t spot the vanishing point.
some reflections distort; yours perfects.