Differences present themselves first:
how the mug is held in the wrong hand
or at the wrong time of day, evenings
meant for endings, a glass of whiskey
to cry into, a place to lay your head.
Coffee, then, held between both hands:
a beginning. Here, we start to see our
similarities, how our mouths both turn
to laughter, knees bent in even angles
without thought of who follows or leads.
This is what it is to have a reflection:
to see yourself before yourself and only
half-recognize your face, the dark curls
that fall in the wrong direction, shorter
from this angle; a perspective collected,
a puzzle discovered, all borrowed pieces,
broken notes & sorrows which suddenly fit.