When strange light stirs the mirror, forces swirl 
  the shadows by the bathtub and I glimpse
    a figure standing glowing. As I rinse
      the toothpaste down the drain, his blind eye whirls
numinous white, his hair is moonlight streaming.
  I know neurologists have shown the course
    of dreaming as synaptic lines of force,
      and even in this dream I know I’m dreaming,
yet when the light refracts at such an angle
it shows his broken face, frost in his beard,
    his black lips mouthing words I only hear
      as moaning of an operatic angel.
His ice hand reaches out. I flinch in fear.
  The mirror breaks. I gasp awake. He’s here.

I tried to put a bird in a cage.
                O fool that I am!
         For the bird was Truth.
Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put
                 Truth in a cage!

And when I had the bird in the cage,
                 O fool that I am!
          Why, it broke my pretty cage.
Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put
                  Truth in a cage!

And when the bird was flown from the cage,
                  O fool that I am!
            Why, I had nor bird nor cage.
Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put
                   Truth in a cage!
             Heigh-ho! Truth in a cage.