Peter Gilmour
The Soul and its Double
I am round behind myself, as for grace
And safekeeping offering up prayers.
I have arrived here before myself
And see myself sitting, arms folded,
As though waiting for peace to return,
Silence to fall, the old ordered calm
Of childhood to come again. I wait
Behind myself forbearingly, proudly -
A mirror image of the patience
The first self shows. We have the same poise,
It would seem, an unnerving prescience
Of body and spirit. I surprise
Both myself and myself watching. Hours,
Even days pass as I wait to hear
My own bidding. Who can break a spell
As deep as this, as exemplary?
And in the breaking of it, what profit?
Is it, then, the eternal instant
Before night falls, all mirrors shatter?
Page(s) 12
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