Morning Mirror

In the morning mirror

the flesh of an old man

climbed my bones

and hung on me

like an old coat

draped over the rung

of a ladder.

I touched a place

below my heart-

a spot I crossed

and swore to die-

a place I touched

when I talked to the flag-

with the old man's hands

that climbed my bones,

ribs like a ladder

leaning on my chest.

In the dark

I am a young man

I am a small man

tough and supple

compact and slim.

When I close may eyes

I am a gripping fist

and a jaw and a hip

and brown in the sun

unstretched

standing slack

without pain

untouchable and clean.

but in the morning mirror

I clearly see

the door

the darkness

the sun struggling

with the dark

to make one more day.