I look in the mirror
as my fingers caress the keyboard,
and my wife thinks that I am being vain.
How do I explain that what I see
is something of my past,
something that gives me words
and causes me to move my fingers
and print out the things in my mind?
Every crease in my face,
every contour of my face,
my entire life,
it is all there in front of me.
The face in the mirror takes me back
more than sixty years.
Sometimes I talk to the reflected image,
half expecting an answer
to things that I still do not understand.
And sometimes the image answers,
and once in a great while
I understand.
The mirror is not vanity;
it is as necessary as the keyboard,
and as powerful a tool as my mind.
I have just discovered it,
and am learning to use it,
and I am being surprised
by what I am finding there.

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