of early evening
when my reflection merges
with the yard outside —
I take form among the shrubs,
a tree grows out of the piano
The rain drips down outside,
inside, the heater clicks,
the refrigerator sings
Yesterday, in the reflection
of the back door through the front window,
I saw my husband appear
in the space that had framed
the oak across the street
but could also project
a ghostly image
of someone in the back yard.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 1, 2018
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