70spoems/airport*

In the airport mirror
I see myself
looking back
not knowing
quite what to make
of this relationship
with time,
this reflection
following me
everywhere,
projecting
into space.

I am wearing a rose
which has molded
itself to my breast,
withered and curled
around the eye-glass pen
on my lapel, a painting
of a woman alone
on cliffs facing the sea,
a woman of heroic
visions no doubt,
my purple scarf,
my beaded vest,
it is October
the time
of returning
I am coming home
myself.

10/12/79