Since I was a child, I was fascinated by the magic in mirrors.
To see yourself and your actions
even if reversed, framed a wonderful trick.
To watch yourself speak and mark the sequence of your expressions.
The mirror was like a cheap camera to perform before.
Then I discovered planes of symmetry and the infinity of mirrors.
It only added to the wonder.
I had a friend who was convinced if he turned quickly enough
he could see the back of his head in the mirror.
We laughed, but he may have had a fleeting moment of genius,
sighting down the barrel of the infinite.
To see the image of blue sky specked with white clouds
on the chameleon skin of the water,
before all the colors of the sunset parade.
How could this not be magic, or the divine thinly disguised?
Even these poems and the dreams are small mirrors
where we can see others or ourselves reflected.
Lay your head or this page by the river at dusk;
see if they catch colors from the sunset and return it.

Bruce E. Tomczak