The apartment I see from a hallway mirror
is empty but for an open window
on the shift of out-turned glaciers, frozen shawls
denying the black tongue, ever beneath.
In the face of this asking if pure image is
mute or simply reversed, the window persuades
a warm wetness of steam, a hushed-up night entry
and reprieve from the traffic, some music.
Header Image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash.