The morning mirror forgets your face
and rooms relax their rigorous hold
on things you've kept; the cold
floorboards are space
where dust accumulates.
Everything settles. Still rooms
close inward; windows no longer
accept light. Shadows from corners
fill the floor; evening blooms
silent as stone.
You're free now. The empty mirror
makes no demands; the walls'
empty rectangles vaguely recall
a still-life there,
reflected, then disappeared.