MASTER OF MY REFLECTIONS

Like a mirage,
nothing appears
as it is.

Neither the trace
of my face
inside the looking glass,
nor the immaculate reflection
of my father’s
undeniable image
on the facade,
can account
for the mystifying
transformation
from being
to un-being.

From pure beginnings
drifting
to incomplete endings,
we are like falling leaves
in winter moonlight,
you and I.

The unrepeatable
heartbeats
of history
beat nevertheless,
suspended
between stillness
and the unfailing actuality
of stirring shadows.

Some images,
like motionless memories,
are shapeless silhouettes
in perpetual hibernation.

Others have structure,
like sculpted clay
molded from
an accumulation
of yesterdays.

I am
where I was
before I wasn’t
stopping time
in the mirror.

You are
where you were
before
the impenetrable glass
shattered
into pieces
of delicate dreams.

Timeless
images,
like life,
stand still
when I choose
to be master
of my reflections.

© JOHN PISCATELLA