The three quarter mirror
on the east wall
of the grand marble foyer
of my mother's vacation home
is the most perfect place
to pluck your eyebrows
the light is so fifteenth century
kneeling there on a precarious
but plush bench the mirror so wide
you lose all sense of borders
I've never found myself
so close to myself before
and usually I can't bear this sort
of scrutiny but just yesterday
I talked myself into thinking
a tooth filling is really just
a kind of masochistic spa day
so maybe I'm opening up to this
whole new part of the universe
I do looked surprised
but not too Joan Crawford
so maybe it's virtuous
this kind of reflection
this dreaming I am the adverb
in one of the early lines
one that will surely be cut
because it's not even part
of the poem only windup
just practice just waiting
for its own loss consoled
with its own noted but finally
inconsequential beauty.