Lourve

Louvre

To a bronze Egyptian mirror seen at the Louvre

A mirror, not cold greyed glass,

instead warm ambiance of polished amber hues,

halo gilded owner.

Shines still after millennium of reflecting

Sand specks in dunes,

Dust gathering of old pharaoh’s breath as

he rests, cocooned under lays, brainless,

heartless, all exchanged for a feather.

A mirror raised from the tomb,

packed in reeds cut from the same riverbed,

then brought across hundreds of miles

for each thousand years of waiting.

Hush now, and view yourself, I have not seen a face

for three thousand years.

Hush, watch yourself,

connecting with your wooden carved ancestors,

polished onyx and jet beads dance

under the glass panels

as I see again.