I always thought you favored the bride Of Arnolfini, though I look nothing like him And would never wear his hat. They hold hands, as lovers will, But hers is turned upward in his As if he is showing us That it is empty. Her left hand tells Another story, resting on her belly Full with child. They are almost floating Inside their clothes. They more than float In the mirror, or between two mirrors. As is often the case in such matters, One of the mirrors is really a door Where a second couple stands, smaller and less clear, Though similar, asking to be us For as long as we stay here. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org |