Veneer

Everywhere is a mirror, if you care
to look: red porch floor made glossy

by wind-blown rain, hummingbird
hovering over its surface. Round

soup spoon skimming, dipped
beneath to snare a disc

of ginger, coarse ruffled leaf.
Your eyes: across these bowls

of cooling tea, dark irises
enclosed in softer brown. Late

risen moon: careless coin, forgotten
wish tossed into shallow water.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.