Mirror Fable

from da Vinci's right to left,
                                    the manuscript of --- reversed writing, ---

sometimes occurs in those with certain derangements
but here, where the consonant cage is unlocking,
forthwith seeing is Ekphrastic, an ordinary treason: mirror as
oblivion's antidote for language and outward seeming,
not to mirror human salvation
where limbo edges its border on Hell, is portioned
to those departed spirits and expressions
at no fault but fallen in

the image (lime-light giving off its own surface heat) that finds…

Who are we, if not ourselves there.
Past Prussia's Hall of Mirrors,
to Rorschach with imperfect reason, doubling the verb,
the ghost-kingdom.

What other emblazoned fable unfinishes its act?

The mirror sees inside its own mouth, cauldron of vowels.
Love returned to Chaucer's “The Squire's Tale” ---
hear it in the silver,
tongue to tongue. Therein,

what is shown, in future, present and past, the Vulcan's mirror…
But so much smaller, the face in daily pained refuge finds:

A bird's bone-weight of light converses with heavy dark.
The heirloom spoon collects cold.
Water drowns on itself

and wintering inside,
Lao's mirror reflects the mind and its thoughts

but you cannot speak back to it without an act of snow,
without the mouth falling this
far out of frame.