Jumping into the
deep,
sleep.
Landing in front of the
thin wall
mirror.
Looking back through its |scratched| |faded brown| surface,
wondering to see
myself
watching
myself.
If it's not a dream I will call this
vigilance.
Seeing myself lying down
restless
this side;
peacefully
over there.
This is how bigots keep an eye
across the street,
spying
unseeable in the dark.
My mind
awakens
with snatches of dream
and consciousness.
Covered with tatters of a window curtain
I'm leaning against the steamed glass
Carefully returning to the
other room.
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