Me: Can you help me polish this mirror of my heart?

The relentless attempt to control

is a dry vortex

in my throat

distracting me from polishing the mirror.

You: Problems are external,

yet they emerge from the dark cave within.

Look within.

Use your imagination to see the deepest point of center inside you.

Me: Like that sunrise this morning?

pricking up through the gash of telephone wire and pole

humbling the fearful flickering lights of the cities.

A street, wide at my periphery

a point in the center

at the end of my vision, the sun.

You: Understand that I am you and you are me

even though we could find some way to be

the opposite ends of the spectrum.

Me: Back to that sunrise

infinitely consistent

regardless of if I see it or not.

You: To not be seen is a banishment.

Me: Back to the mirror of my heart.

You: Polish it often

and swaddle the banished like a newborn child

in your arms.

Comfort the innocent.

The only problem we have:

We are the ones who animate suffering.

who birth it into being.

who make it with our hands

and throw it at our reflections.

Me: It does not have to be that way

Love is all encompassing.

It has no opposite.

You: Do you know where love radiates like a sun right now?

where it is expanding like summer

deepening like the oldest tree’s roots

Where it nestles into hidden tender places

inside the earth of our bodies?

It is where the martyrs live and die

and show each other their polished mirrors

amongst the dust and rubble.