Myth of the Mirror

Spring days are crowded with a thousand golden hours.
The earth was specks of yellow flowers
in the green of her eye;
eyes that watched
many moons chart their course
through celestial time.

In the dark, unfathomable recesses

of pointillist sketches 

in Jupiter's auroral sky
she saw a time before her recollection,
before Narcissus looked in the water
and found God in his reflection.

In the old hay and winter clothes
baby rats were born

And soon were running through sunbaked lawns.
Pollen hung as tarnished chains of little trees, still as all the hours.

Her overgrown eyes saw into a time when
mice were as men,
water was a God, not just a mirror,
and trees were sundry myths in godly disguises.