Once More into the Mirror
by Bob Hicok
A robin thrashing months against the reflection
in the window of a robin thrashing months reminds me
of someone I am. You are, dear red one, insane
to mimic human behavior on a scale of feathers. Shoo
of course I tried, I tried taping a shark
to the window, a piano to the shark, I tried burning
my skin, stabbing my brain, I tried telling
you, you are not your rival, but of course
you are. If you weren’t here, you wouldn’t feel the need
to protect the space in which you were not here
from your being here, or as the saying goes,
“I am my own worst enemy.” But if I am my own
worst enemy, I am my own best enemy, as you
are your own Waterloo. Because while pecking
at your pecking, you are not eating, not flying,
not singing, not making more robins to perhaps
not be cuckoo, you are the entire history
of the failure of love. Love
has to be offered to the dogs of war,
the robins of insanity, the likes of me
by me without expectation it will be returned
by the likes of me to me, this is the entire history
of the success of love. Day after day,
the pure and broken universe of the self,
me wanting me to fly off and leave me alone
with me.
