The mirror did not lie, as it translated the language
of my skin into the sharp golden light of a nameless
afternoon,
words steeped like honey into the heat of the day-
it voiced the truth of my two lane road
through the clear eyes of a child,
smooth and unblemished,
without the alpine crevasses of the ticking clock,
and the ravages of cutting winds-
its words were blunt,
without pretense,
as it spoke each line and blemish in detail-
roadmaps where I’ve been,
some gravel, others paved, but most not yet
plotted-
it spoke of a trail,
the one trail where all others collide,
the course whose journey is yet to be defined,
that long road whose sun sits patiently at the
end…
the mirror did not lie as it spoke to me,
and my feet edged nearer to the trail of which it
spoke,
the one of purpose,
the trail that was written long before it was
discovered*