Halfling

She looks at her reflection,
Her face arranged in the crystals of the mirror.
She wonders
Is there a refracted world to watch?
Through the looking glass
are there words?
words, words that exactly map the meaning
of the perfect contours, the entrails
of Desire.

She wants to see and sense to touch
the swimming fuel of circulation-
what do I contain inside of me?

There are no words shimmering back at her
watchful eyes.

There is only static
moving behind the skin.
And nothing written in the shape of the eyes
of her sight.

This is alien.

She is a sad dance,
turning away.

There is no voice and no gaze,
I wanted the words
that would consummate this haploid piece of me,
my incomplete pain.