The view is a staring contest.

I stare at the sky, the water,

a moving trail of ants or pearls --

depending on level of reflection --

entering and departing the tar path into the woods.

The mirror is disturbed

by a bird, by a pull of seaweed

dislodged. The mirror calms again,

full of its own grip and nurture of horsetails.

I can't outbeat the stare --

think that if I count the swirls of kelp

a cloud will unfold

to protect my appreciation.

But the kelp shines too much, or fades.

I brake to make toast, tea, a stanza.

When I was younger,

I collected hand mirrors.

By that, I mean I collected the habit

of evening in one mirror, and then another.

I have three, one tarnished by its more severe

antiqueitude, or saké.

To be a painting is to see the tense anguish in beauty,

a blonde eyelash on your finger.

Elizabeth Ashe received an MFA in Creative Writing from Chatham University. She is the Director of Mavi Contemporary Art. When not writing poetry, Ashe is a visual artist and in pursuit of an MFA at MICA. She was an Assistant Editor for Fourth River. Her work has been previously published or is forthcoming by Insert <Content>, Fourth River, Open Wide, No Teeth, The Legendary, Battered Suitcase, Glass: A Journal of Poetry and About Her: Stories of Grace, Grit, Grievance and Gratitude, among others.