Monday, March 10, 2008


John Skoyles (2001)

I see straight through myself
and into the no mirror.

A frame stares back,
announcing the time: late.
And the temperature:
still warm.

I recognize the calm
bystander's snowy face,
the handwriting on the blackboard

where the chalk dust
from the names of the present
falls to the ledge
toward those who have disappeared.