Poem: An Old Man Speaking to His Reflection

An Old Man Speaking to His Reflection

When you think of me
and your mind pans the surface
of the wind that moves you
to thinking, am I still the innocence
your longing imparts?  Do I move
in deeper worlds and double lives lost
in what I understand?  I know your
robust wisdom ponders me and makes
secrets of what it ponders, tying life
to the lattice of my mind’s circumference,
lining the world with warmth.  How else
could I comprehend the excavation
of doubt and faith, wit and wisdom? 
Indeed, longing is a bowl scooped
in pearl, but few can see
to the bottom of the broth.  I cause
the wisdom of retention, the surface tension
of every observation, to dip and depress
solitude, so that all the light I gather gleans
relief from every agony I have felt, every
pain practiced and planned, devised
by an enemy I have never met, except in you
and in the way you see me everywhere. 
Your brilliance encourages this hardship
and moves me, in everyone, to my end.