Aged Mirrors (11) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler

Hours shattered like ourselves.
We learn how to love our fragments:
The pieces of truth that we are.


Our twilight:
A prophet of sadness.
A tear.


Years made of evening.
We realize we owe what we are
To no-one. To everyone.


Lonely hours.
Our sigh:
The only confessor,
The only confession
Left.


Evening's empty table.
We realize we've fed our dreams
And they fed us.


Rainy hours.
Even the rainbows weep
Like a promise
That grew weary and old.


Evening. Alone at the window.
The passersby are visitors in my life:
A small talk that softens my lips.


The hours of shadows.
Maybe it is our tears that know
How many seas are left.
How many ports.


Hours aged as the light.
We build our own Garden:
The one that knows what tears are.


The dimness within and outside.
We lean our eyes
Like the evening, like pain,
On the promise of moon.


Hours made of weary years.
In our body:
The patience of earth.
The long waiting for the angels.




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