Lady At A Mirror
As in sleeping-drink spices
Softly she loosens in the liquid-clear
Mirror her fatigued demeanor;
And she puts her smile deep inside.
And she waits while the liquid
Rises from it; then she pours her hair
Into the mirror, and, lifting one
Wondrous shoulder from the evening gown,
She drinks quietly from her image. She drinks
What a lover would drink feeling dazed,
Searching it, full of mistrust; and she only
Beckons to her maid when at the bottom
Of her mirror she finds candles, wardrobes,
And the cloudy dregs of a late hour.
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