I can't see your face in the glass - just a shadow of white where you must be - no features, no hair, surely not really there but your past floats tangible in the air, bright ghosts travel round you sitting here smiling down at your lack of nerve, your fear. Can you see your face, your self - green pear hanging amid the boughs of your life, unseeded, unripened, hard to the hand resisting the lips - when you fall will you be found, plucked, raised up?next poem