The Tracing Paper Sky Poem by Christopher Hopkins

The sun's accomplice shines
In the tracing paper sky.
Moonbeams do your worst,
With your pale knives in the room.

A jail of my reflection,
In the naked mirrored view.
A tarmac complexion shadows
By the crescent's silver tongues.

There is no need to speak my tale,
My look does tell its own.
The years have ploughed and furrowed skin,
Through phases, moon and sun.

This even weight around my neck,
The guilt that never shakes.
Let the silver light sink in, in deep
And open up the veins.

From the world outside my window,
Or vex behind my brow,
What else or next, that can be asked,
Of this composite vessel.

I look to the outlined reflection,
In the naked silver view.
Lit from the single point of call
In the tracing paper sky.