It was winter then as it is now,
when ghosts emerge with the quick dark.
I wanted to swallow the stars,
dark-pointed and smelling of anise.
I wanted to put away for good those old
angers I thought I’d dispatched.
They flickered, elusive as ever
—though not as powerful.
When next I looked, only small
brown birds picking through gravel.
I’d seen that dirty mirror before, rubbed
its edges with the corner of a sleeve.
[LAG-signature date=”12 22 2012″ url=”http://morningporch.com/2012/12/159123052/”]