she dances in the sun’s light
never tanning herself

she is a mirror at the
slightest angle.
providing the greatest
reflection
not blinding with
the glare of judgment
or the braggadocio of triumph

you try to read her Braille
and in return you are read

a mirror that shows a
familiar gentle angle
a pulsing dance
vibrating soft messages
of calm and care
instructions that are
revelatory–not admonishment

you will hear her song
surely you have heard it in yourself

it mirrors what others have
almost said to your face
sweet, melancholy and modal
a time signature
impossible to pinpoint, yet
it will remind you to chorus
all your finest attributes

as she leaves
she leaves behind

you adjust your rearview mirror
slightly at an angle
hoping to catch one more look
as if that will suffice
you breathe your lungs full, so full
begging that her smell
will never leave your car

© Tom Watters  12/4/06