our bland fatal assurance
that reflection
is righteousness
being accomplished

C.K. Williams¹

We begin in reflection charmed by the clear
face of water then stir
and muddy our reflection.

Why is this
the path to life -
always?

We tremble in our bland assurance
that this is every thing there is.
An exquisite presumption!

So filled with a sense of being right
and yet,
and yet?

Winter builds its own
reflection.
White, bleak, chilled.

We turn away
or inward,
fill our heart warmly.

That love becomes
the eyes we shine
to those we cherish.

Through the labor
of our days
we shine our shield.

That we may
lay upon it
in our final day.

Our righteousness is not for us to judge
but for those that follow.
You did well, the eldest before me.

My hope is to do
as well
I cannot hope for more.