The house was scared
                     and so it filled itself
not with mirrors, but with reflections.

        Why these arched doorways?  Why these walls?
        Why the cold owls, singing in the rafters?
It could not be sure that this was not all a dream.

Still, it hardly matters now,
with every wall laced in with symmetry.
If the east wing should wake up,
no matter, it was only a reflection of the west.
When the roof peels off
like an opening eye? -- Well anyway,
it was only done with mirrors, and the floor
could still be real.  We can make do with that.

And when the house wakes up?
There are still the mirrors.  And without them
there still is symmetry, and after that
comes counting -- and then voices, and then breath.
There will always be something.

        One by one the owls come and go
        under the numberless sky, their open voices
        filling the house's heart with glass.  It was fear.
        It was only fear.

3 responses total.

<Rebecca watches the pretty images it makes in her head>

bravo.  you've earned yet anothe rhate point in my book. d=  I really like
the last two stanzas.  emotion-provoking.

I agree, the last two stanzas are excellent!  I'm not quite sure I understand
the first three stanzas.  The words sound pretty, but I do not grasp their
meaning.  Oh well.  I will read it again later.

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