Hall of Mirrors

‘Ah there she is’, he says, ‘Ah there she is.’ 
She’s come, and so an opening in space 
appears, and in she steps, and every face 
now turns to hers.  The hall is hers.  Now his 
eyes recede within him to the dark, 
to settle in above the scene, and glow 
like soft light on a painting.  Here below 
she seems to bask while moving in an arc, 
both warmed and warming.  Still, there is behind 
her eyes a soft disquiet, as if she 
had lost track of herself, now left to blindly 
grope amidst the smear of faces.  She 
scans the unreflecting eyes.  And then 
the cell phone lenses rise, and then she is 
turned into each, with each, and calm descends. 
Ah there she is.  She sighs.  Ah there she is.