Reflection from the Far Side of the Glass
For L.M.
“Even in seeing one self in a mirror it is necessary to recognize oneself, for if one does not, one does not see one self but only a human being.”
—Anti-Climacus, The Sickness Unto Death
The time I spent on you and all
The sacrifices I’d hoped, being drenched
Across your altar—all the blood and tears—
Might be honoured… might bind life to life:
Mere vanity and vapour; foolishness and fear.
Now I’m left with memories—and pain—
And the serpent of suspicion whispering,
Insinuating—in a voice like mine—
Such awful, hateful things and… worst of all:
At minimum, a few of them are true.
Or not far off the mark. In any case,
The thought of judging justly (even one
Among the teeming and increasing throng)
Is staggering. It leaves me short of breath.
And desperate. Like you did.
I fear judgement’s fierce, refining blaze
Blocks any exist from this place you left me:
How else will I grow (besides resentful)?
How else learn and change unless
By burning out the truth?
Even truth, though, I don’t think would heal me.
Your wounds won’t stop bleeding,
Though I clean and bandage them unceasingly,
Pour wine and water over them and brood:
How is it, being absent, you yet get
Fresh blood upon your altar?
Finally! A new piece; as I have before, I assure you again that there are several more nearing completion. With luck, 2025 will not be laid to rest without another one posted and Winter—already having shoved Autumn out of the way rather greedily—will see one or two more as it kicks 2026 off. We shall see. When it comes to this sort of writing, there’s no real prediction.