The Other Room

The mirror reflects the other room’s door:
it shuts out a land of polychromatic
paper horses galloping like mad
Valkyries.

The other room is a land of holes dripping
ice tears into a purple river and planes
flying through the ceiling. Savage songs tear
mouths.

In the mirror autumn merges
with desperate shapes squeezing out
the keyhole. All the small dead wear
quicksilver.

“Rain” as my cover.
I rush out: the sun swallows me
as if I were the culprit.