Channels Poem by Lynsey Jenkins
Channels
The mind is a mirror.
You whet your image till it draws nearer.
You wipe with your finger till it comes clearer,
then press your thumb into that place.
You push but when at last a face
gleams back, you slowly release
the pearl that tremors
as in a mirror
turning like the sky over a river,
of which you are a courier.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: self
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4/29/2024 9:18:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
