Of all the strangest entities is the glass-girl
In corners she arranges the floral antimacassars
Without fuss. The silent servant to the world
But for her reversals, all would be quite clear.
At night she stares deeply into her own eyes
Owls are less concentrated! The pulse of the pupil
Against the striated penumbra of the iris
Mimics the antics of love’s game.
If she moves away, the moon shifts and empties
In the way of satiated desire, which once fulfilled
Soon swells with urgency again.
Mirrors are the perfect stalkers.
Swallowing endlessly without recording
Frame by frame.
Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights Reserved