Getting There

Mirror mirror...

My body dithers.
Grace, slivered down to glimmer,
though not yet treed,
antecedent to fortune’s slack:
brim tilted, edge blunted,
lease forfeited.

Compromised without promise,
seated at the bed’s edge,
after another fitful sleep.
Day’s fissures warp towards me.
I can just make it to the bathroom.
Look as I might, the mirror shows no one worth keeping.

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