Mirror in the fun house

You draw yourself with a pen, with lines, scratches, blots of black, pupils that shine and glower, lids that are heavy, a jowl, a thick chin, tufts of hair that suggest a half opened curtain, bags and shadows and accusations, an old Jew’s forehead, cheekbones with shadows that trace scars of Sicilian scorn, searching challenging hoping that the face looking back at yours might at last reveal, undeniably, a trace, if not a well, of love and accidental depth.