One more time,
let me lift this frosted glass,

pinch the base of the oval with the hand I forced
myself to learn to write with, and stroke the mirror’s
rim with the back of the palm of the hand that had always
been meant to be dominant.

Caressing softly this frame that I seek myself inside,
I focus on the space separating the edge from the features
facing back at me from this spiderwebbed
center, and I wonder,

how much have I loved this portal
that captures me, as though I could be caged?

I tear my eyes away to raise them as high,
low, and far to the side as I can, and find
the kaleidoscope of my near skin,
all shadows and double vision, faint peach,

and I wonder, what is it I see? So I lift both hands’
finger beds to tread circles on my nerve endings, and I
realize I’m on the street with other people staring back
at me, so I just laugh and tell them, I am soothed,

I am stimulated, I am not separated. And their connection melts
in my veins to spread this new fire that I find on my cheeks.