Aged Mirrors (25) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler

Evening comes
Like a mirror of shadows.
I know no longer
Where to find myself.


Evening's table.
We drink our deep water.
The fish at the bottom of our pain.


Appeased hours.
The murmur wraps our ears:
A fairytale
Untouched by time, by sadness.


Aged years.
The world sees itself in our eyes:
An old geography,
The death of rivers.
Evening's murmur.
Music for two throats:
The flowers. The quiet.



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