If the poet looked in the mirror
		he would see his ears
inflamed with the past
		he would see thin veins on his cheeks
like blue rivers in a distant planet
		mouth of a toad straining to catch
the poem just beyond his reach
		almost a smile almost a dance
in and out of the mirror's frame
		he will see a mockingbird
on a fence post tail flicking up and down
		before flying off into memory
he will see his sunken lips
		like an old general's 
who has learned to trust defeat
		a nose that has lost its shape
sharp bone cutting air
		he will not see his tongue
or his elbows stiff and stony
		he will see the mole on his forehead
touch of the woman 
		his wife would say
hair tousled thinned out
		anguish and peace 
fighting a battle to the end
		on the dry bed of his intelligence
many struggles with others
		many more with himself
he will see his wife
		her closed and dreaming eyes
it was never about the money 
		or the houses or the sex
he will see clouds an empty parking lot
		he wishes he could see 
the island of his birth
		a storm out at sea bringing rain
water gathering in puddles
		on the road to his childhood home.