I spent the mornings of two years,
looking into the Christ’s bathroom mirror.
I never saw myself.
I did see my lips move
with words other than the words I sang.
Sometimes it laughed when I unintentionally frowned.
Gradually, I found the image
in the Christ’s bathroom mirror
felt like a new friend at the edge of familiarity.
Once, I thought I saw him walking
along Juan Tabo Boulevard, near the library,
a fatigue jacket slung over his shoulder.
I was wrong. It was not the face I faced
for nearly two years of mornings
in the Christ’s bathroom mirror.
copyright © 2018 Kenneth P. Gurney