the waterline slips
higher than intended.
Somewhere on the radio – possibly
everywhere at once –
a river breaks her banks.
Self portrait, self –
some fluid warps the base of my door,
but far too slowly.
Tiles are lifted, trails are split
but far too slowly for
Him, fixed in mirrors
flat-out between panes –
painting faces on faces, gazing back;
the waterline shatters light apart
as it levels with the bed.