Through the Looking Glass

The city hung upside down, an almost perfect copy, unblemished by any movement on the water that set a glaze upon the morning. Later, I saw ferns and a red bromelia caught in the still of a backyard pond and in the clearest counterfeit of all, me passing across a mirror in a florist's window before disappearing somewhere beyond its gilded frame. As a child, head stuck halfway through the looking glass of a book, I longed to push through into that reflected world. It was there, I thought, I existed in counterpoint, having all that troubled me reversed into the opposite. My real home was on the other side, not here, crossing a boundary that should never have been crossed, fallen through a crack in a dream, lost, with no way back. Note. Title taken from Lewis Carroll's " Through the Looking Glass "