Rapt, an old man inspects his living room mirror
but not for his image. Instead, its angle
subtly reflects the light of a stub of candle
on the silent piano. He might say the reflection shimmers
but the years, though blessed, have jaded him some.
He’d rather avoid such a hackneyed word
but he’s also abandoned the urge to think up a better.
A train comes to mind, though he doesn’t know why.
He can’t recall when it was he saw it or even
if, but it seems some caboose’s lantern
lodged in his mind a lifetime ago, its glow
growing distant. Was it even then a matter
of things he longed for fading? The rattle and click
on the tracks make a poignant song. He’d rather
ignore its meaning, clearer now than ever.