"mirrored glass"

A draft slips beneath the heavy cedar door,
neither a gale of the high peaks, nor a sigh

       but it finds marrow.
              Such bittersweet pivot,
                      this calibrator of pulse,

stirrer of ash in the hearth we left cold.
Like a sudden rain on dry eucalyptus,

I am undone again by what I cannot hold,
the joints of my fingers losing their grip
on mirrored glass.

.