Made of polished bronze from the past
I hold it against the light.
The endless reflections come and go at last,
I move and the images lost in vast.
I had thought that my days were cast.
Do I see them again under burning sun?
Pale clouds are flying in a silver lake
Lying beneath me. I shall take:
Gleaming lights, its sounds and sights,
Hoping the danger would vanish under nights.
But in dark square room it is just a dot
Seeing no relief I hold the ephemeral lure
As a last reflection of my cure.
2015