The Well

The night
that slips into the well
is deep –
deeper than the night
that sleeps in me.
I lean
to feel the water,
to see my face –
the bright expression
of the moon.
The night is deep,
the mountain silent –
the sound of footsteps
so long ago.



I stare
into a mirror.
I try to see
everything I am,
but the face looking back
is not my own.
I stare
and it stares right back at me –
it’s skin is pale,
eyes dark,
as if everything they felt
melted down inside them
and slipped into
the hidden corners of the mind.
The eyes blink
and I try not to,
but fail
and never notice
the tear
falling off the eyelashes
and hitting the ground.
Then the face smiles
and leans in
to whisper me a secret.
But I cannot hear,
and as the face
tries to move away,
I reach out my hand
to stop it.
My fingers stretch out,
feel for something cold,
and are stopped
from moving.
They rest flat
on the ice-cold surface,
tapping for that
unreachable, smiling face,
and just when they feel
they’re about to touch it,
the smile fades,
and everything I am
slips away
into the darkness
of the mirror.