midsummer is the mirrors’ fevered
lustre in the twilight. pupils play
back déjà vus - not the glass cleaving
so as to reciprocate sunless day -
nor seeing either - touching on tender
light. the glass is fever’s cold extreme
because heat is hidden and rendered
calmly in quicksilver’s weighted stream.
consciousness does not pay attention
as well as that definite knowledge
of things beyond sight’s full retention.
our sickness is time stopped by sortilege
of mirrors. our disease is day glazing
over and turning away so glass stays.
6 July 2021