The Perfect Day

The perfect day
allusively mocks me
That which is possible
but wouldn't be recognized
until it has left me alone
in the darkness of walls
Having the courtesy to quietly close
the door as it left
But I may not know it even then
Like a long lost friend
who phones late at night
beyond the hour of rational thought
Someone who can't be well explained
to a wife who is too tired
to really care

It's not a list I can check off
one thing at a time
like Karma that collects on the dormant stalks
of the poison ivy
I can never completly eradicate
behind my house
Less virulent in the winter
but still capable of a nasty rash

Maybe it's a dark conspiracy
as unobtainable
as a glimpse into the void
of the infinite
when I wash my hands
between the two sets of mirrors
Unobtainable
because it's always my own head
that blocks the view

Perhaps the perfect day
is one I can look back on
like the mirrored surface
of a darkened pool
only this time I can see
all the way to the void
And it reflects back my soul
But what other reflection in that darkness
could there be