The moon leans down through my window
And wakes me. When I search the mirror,
there is nothing but the silver
dissolving.
When I look again,
the moon is down,
and where she had been,
there are two images of me in the quicksilver
— the one who stays
and the one who wants to go.
In this space between selves, I am left
wondering what the other
will do with these darkening hours
after the door is closed
and there is only the fading echo of my footsteps.
This article appears in Station Identification.