Reflections in a Room at Nightfall

1
Hands, desperately pinioned, scale
the face of months, days, hours;
but shadows of the hands indicate
another time, pointing now
to the fallen petals,
now the flower.
2
Reflecting the room's one source of light,
window on a further, similar room,
the mirror offers what we believe we know —
an Oedipus-like image of our sight.
3
Beethoven, almost deaf.
Through their patina of despair
his eyes pierce this stillness.
The mouth is sealed upon panic
as spirit and countenance declare
some tragic illumination.
So light penetrating a dusk
landscape leaves in momentary
luminous darkness
the tree in parity with its shadow
both thronging with invisible birds.
4
Light on their brows and on their breasts,
this woman and this man gaze from
Rembrandt's burning, fathomless shades
into this quiet moment, framed
by your arm, as his about her waist.
5
The candle draws the room into its solemn flare —
a single, intense radiance enfolding all.
Its wavering presence in the flow of air
attracts us like some final certitude.
Light is warmth when vision is hope;
this human presence grows while night falls.