Unclothed before the mirror,
the body narrows to a central
point,
A hematite ring,
where the navel gathers;
a body so bony,
it might be life-
less if not for
its head.
Lips are restless yet,
unspoken words mimed
in time with circles of light
leaping mid-pupil.
Eyes are wide,
wide enough to squeeze
inside
to synapses
shooting little liquid
thoughts in thousands,
each waiting to reach
the tongue.

©1998, Amy Hart.