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I paint a wall in my bedroom blue.
The mirror in the middle stores reflections
and plays them back: You walk in
and out. Undress. Arrange yourself next
to me. I bought a fish in a glass bubble
to authenticate the experience.
Ocean of possibility, I say to no one.
You’ve gone still now, drifting on the surface.
I spend hours in front of the mirror,
hands under you, keeping you afloat.
The fish jumps out of its bowl, shrinks like
a popped balloon. Hidden behind our building,
the moon performs its usual routine,
disappointing no one.

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