Prick your finger on a spinning wheel

ii
Being with you here,
in this room

is like groping through a mirror

whose glass has melted

to the consistency

of gelatin

You refuse to be

(and I)

an exact reflection, yet

will not walk from the glass,

be separate.

Anyway, it is right

that they have put

so many mirrors here

(chipped, hung crooked)

in this room with its high transom

and empty wardrobe; even

the back of the door

has one. 

.................

.............

I want the circle

broken.

The circle game, Margaret Atwood