Not Unsuspecting

Not that he was unsuspecting

nor less just and sincere-

often he had seen beyond the smile of the mirror

all of the ineffable night and her ramifications

often he had seen in the mirror

not the face but the skull.

However the tiny reflections on the window panes again

convinced him,

the convalescence of the furniture, the calm look of the morning

that made no demands, requested no control,-these thin little

lines

on the floor left by the passing of the broom convinced him.

Then there was a woman who smiled,

softly, ardently, a fluffy smile,

like the blanket hanging on the window,

heated by the sun.

And he felt in his nostrils the presentiment of ocean freshness.