The mirror pretends to be accurate and loyal;
perhaps to protect itself from its depth.
It agrees while it feels indifferent and reserved. However,
truly, sometimes it escapes from its frame, seeps, undulates
like grayish-green water, slips under the hallway window;
when later we descent the wooden small ladder
we recognize that the yard creek that flows under
the trees, under our chairs, is the same melted, hallway
mirror of this countryside hotel. And we’re meant
to change the water again into the big mirror so we can
see our naked faces in it with the two big, determined
eyes behind the yellow leaves.